ed  below 


LOS  ANGELES 
STATE  NORMAL  SCHOOL 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 


MR.    RUGGLKS. 


FOLKS 
FROM  DIXIE 


BY 

PAUL   LAURENCE   DUNBAR 

Author  of  "  Lyrics  of  Lowly  Life  " 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
E.  W.   KEMBLE 

73477 


NEW   YORK 

DODD,  MEAD   AND   COMPANY 

1902 


Copyright,  1897, 
BY  BACHELLER  SYNDICATE, 

Copyright,  1898, 
BY  JOHN  BRISBEN  WALKER. 

Copyright,  1898, 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY. 


2Snttoersttg  Dress: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.  S.  A. 


To  my  Friend 
H.  A.  TOBEY,  M.  D. 


Contents 

Page 

ANNER  'LIZER'S  STUMBLIN'  BLOCK    ....  3 

THE  ORDEAL  AT  Mr.  HOPE 29 

THE  COLONEL'S  AWAKENING 69 

THE  TRIAL  SERMONS  ON  BULL-SKIN  ....  83 

JIMSELLA 113 

Mr.  PISGAH'S  CHRISTMAS  'POSSUM      ....  125 

A  FAMILY  FEUD 137 

AUNT  MANDY'S  INVESTMENT 159 

THE  INTERVENTION  OF  PETER 171 

NELSE  HATTON'S  VENGEANCE 185 

AT  SHAFT  n 205 

THE  DELIBERATION  OF  MR.  DUNKIN     .     .     .  235 


List  of  Illustrations 

Page 

"MR.  RUGGLES" Frontispiece 

"A  VISIT  FROM  UNCLE  EBEN  " 18 

"  AUNT  CAROLINE  WAS  FINDING  SOLACE  IN  HER 

PIPE" 56 

"BROTHER  HEZEKIAH  SNEEDON  " 84 

"WHY  N'T  YOU  GIT  ME  SOMEP'N'   TO  FIX  MY 
SELF  UP  IN?" 114 

"I  SEE  'POSSUM  GREASE  ON  YO'  MOUF  "      .     .  131 

"OLD  AUNT  DOSHY" 137 

"  WHA'  'D  YOU  KETCH?" 186 


ANNER   'LIZER'S 
STUMBLIN'    BLOCK 


Folks  from   Dixie 


9 

ANNER  'LIZER'S  STUMBLIN'  BLOCK 

IT  was  winter.  The  gray  old  mansion  of  Mr. 
Robert  Selfridge,  of  Fayette  County,  Ky.,  was 
wrapped  in  its  usual  mantle  of  winter  sombre- 
ness,  and  the  ample  plantation  stretching  in 
every  direction  thereabout  was  one  level  plain 
of  unflecked  whiteness.  At  a  distance  from  the 
house  the  cabins  of  the  negroes  stretched  away 
in  a  long,  broken  black  line  that  stood  out  in 
i  bold  relief  against  the  extreme  whiteness  of 

their  surroundings. 

(         About  the  centre  of  the  line,  as  dark  and  un- 
-  inviting  as  the  rest,  with  its  wide  chimney  of 
,j    scrap  limestone  turning  clouds  of  dense  smoke 
into  the  air,  stood  a  cabin. 

There  was  nothing  in  its  appearance  to  dis 
tinguish  it  from  the  other  huts  clustered  about. 
The    logs  that   formed    its    sides   were  just  as 
seamy,  the  timbers  of  the  roof  had  just  the  same 
3 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

abashed,  brow-beaten  look  ;  and  t^e  keenest  eye 
could  not  have  detected  the  slightest  shade  of 
difference  between  its  front  and  the  bare,  un- 
whitewashed  fronts  of  its  scores  of  fellows. 
Indeed,  it  would  not  have  been  mentioned  at 
all,  but  for  the  fact  that  within  its  confines  lived 
and  thrived  the  heroine  of  this  story. 

Of  all  the  girls  of  the  Selfridge  estate,  black, 
brown,  or  yellow,  Anner  'Lizer  was,  without 
dispute,  conceded  to  be  the  belle.  Her  black 
eyes  were  like  glowing  coals  in  their  sparkling 
brightness ;  her  teeth  were  like  twin  rows  of 
shining  ivories ;  her  brown  skin  was  as  smooth 
and  soft  as  silk ;  and  the  full  lips  that  enclosed 
her  gay  and  flexile  tongue  were  tempting  enough 
to  make  the  heart  of  any  dusky  swain  throb  and 
his  mouth  water. 

Was  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  Sam  Merritt 
—  strapping,  big  Sam,  than  whom  there  was  not 
a  more  popular  man  on  the  place  —  should  pay 
devoted  court  to  her  ? 

Do  not  gather  from  this  that  it  was  Sam 
alone  who  paid  his  devoirs  to  this  brown  beauty. 
Oh,  no  !  Anner  'Lizer  was  the  "  bright,  par 
ticular  star"  of  that  plantation,  and  the  most 
desired  of  all  blessings  by  the  young  men  there-1 
4 


ANNER   'LIZER 

about.  But  £am,  with  his  smooth  but  fearless 
ways,  Sam,  with  his  lightsome  foot,  so  airy  in 
the  dance,  Sam,  handsome  Sam,  was  the  all- 
preferred.  If  there  was  a  dance  to  go  to,  a 
corn-husking  to  attend,  a  social  at  the  rude  little 
log  church,  Sam  was  always  the  lucky  man  who 
was  alert  and  able  to  possess  himself  of  Anner 
'Lizer's  "  comp'ny."  And  so,  naturally,  people 
began  to  connect  their  names,  and  the  rumour 
went  forth,  as  rumours  will,  that  the  two  were 
engaged ;  and,  as  far  as  engagements  went 
among  the  slaves  in  those  days,  I  suppose  it  was 
true.  Sam  had  never  exactly  prostrated  himself 
at  his  sweetheart's  feet  and  openly  declared  his 
passion ;  nor  had  she  modestly  snickered  behind 
her  fan,  and  murmured  yes  in  the  approved 
fashion  of  the  present.  But  he  had  looked  his 
feelings,  and  she  had  looked  hers  ;  while  numer 
ous  little  attentions  bestowed  on  each  other,  too 
subtle  to  be  detailed,  and  the  attraction  which 
kept  them  constantly  together,  were  earnests  of 
their  intentions  more  weighty  than  words  could 
give.  And  so,  let  me  say,  without  further  ex 
planation,  that  Sam  and  Anner  'Lizer  were 
engaged.  But  when  did  the  course  of  true 
love  ever  run  smooth  ? 
5 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

There  was  never  a  time  but  there  were  some 
rocks  in  its  channel  around  which  the  little 
stream  had  to  glide  or  over  which  it  had  to 
bound  and  bubble ;  and  thus  it  was  with  the 
loves  of  our  young  friends.  But  in  this  case 
the  crystal  stream  seemed  destined  neither  to 
bound  over  nor  glide  by  the  obstacle  in  its  path, 
but  rather  to  let  its  merry  course  be  checked 
thereby. 

It  may,  at  first,  seem  a  strange  thing  to  say, 
but  it  was  nevertheless  true,  that  the  whole 
sweep  and  torrent  of  the  trouble  had  rise  in  the 
great  religious  revival  that  was  being  enthusias 
tically  carried  on  at  the  little  Baptist  meeting 
house.  Interest,  or,  perhaps  more  correctly 
speaking,  excitement  ran  high,  and  regularly  as 
night  came  round  all  the  hands  on  the  neigh 
bouring  plantations  flocked  to  the  scene  of  their 
devotions. 

There  was  no  more  regular  attendant  at 
these  meetings,  nor  more  deeply  interested  lis 
tener  to  the  pastor's  inflammatory  exhortations, 
than  Anner  'Lizer.  The  weirdness  of  the 
scene  and  the  touch  of  mysticism  in  the  services 

—  though,  of  course,  she  did  not  analyse  it  thus 

—  reached  her  emotional  nature  and  stirred  her 

6 


ANNER   'LIZER 

being  to  its  depths.  Night  after  night  found 
her  in  her  pew,  the  third  bench  from  the  rude 
pulpit,  her  large  eyes,  dilated  to  their  fullest 
capacity,  following  the  minister  through  every 
motion,  seeming  at  times  in  their  steadfastness 
to  look  through  him  and  beyond  to  the  regions 
he  was  describing,  —  the  harp-ringing  heaven  of 
bliss  or  the  fire-filled  home  of  the  damned. 

Now  Sam,  on  the  other  hand,  could  not  be 
induced  to  attend  these  meetings ;  and  when 
his  fellow-servants  were  at  the  little  church 
praying,  singing,  and  shouting,  he  was  to  be 
found  sitting  in  one  corner  of  his  cabin,  picking 
his  banjo,  or  scouring  the  woods,  carrying  axe 
and  taper,  and,  with  a  dog  trotting  at  his  heels, 
hunting  for  that  venison  of  the  negro  palate, — 
'coon. 

Of  course  this  utter  irreverence  on  the  part 
of  her  lover  shocked  Anner  'Lizer;  but  she  had 
not  entered  far  enough  into  the  regions  of  the 
ecstasy  to  be  a  proselyte  ;  so  she  let  Sam  go  his 
way,  albeit  with  reluctance,  while  she  went  to 
church  unattended.  But  she  thought  of  Sam  ; 
and  many  a  time  when  she  secretly  prayed  to 
get  religion  she  added  a  prayer  that  she  might 
retain  Sam. 

7 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

He,  the  rogue,  was  an  unconscious  but  pro 
nounced  sceptic ;  and  day  by  day,  as  Anner 
'Lizer  became  more  and  more  possessed  by 
religious  fervour,  the  breach  between  them 
widened  ;  still  widening  gradually  until  the  one 
span  that  connected  the  two  hearts  was  sud 
denly  snapped  asunder  on  the  night  when  Anner 
'Lizer  went  to  the  mourner's  bench. 

She  had  not  gone  to  church  with  that  intention ; 
indeed  not,  although  she  had  long  been  deeply 
moved  by  a  consciousness  of  her  lost  estate. 
But  that  night,  when  the  preacher  had  pictured 
the  boundless  joys  of  heaven,  and  then,  lean 
ing  over  the  pulpit  and  stretching  out  his  arms 
before  him,  had  said  in  his  softest  tone,  "  Now 
come,  won't  you,  sinnahs  ?  De  Lawd  is  jes' 
on  de  othah  side;  jes'  one  step  away,  waitin' 
to  receibe  you.  Won't  you  come  to  him  ? 
Won't  you  tek  de  chance  o'  becomin'  j'int  'ars 
o'  dat  beautiful  city  whar  de  streets  is  gol'  an' 
de  gates  is  pearl  ?  Won't  you  come  to  him, 
sinnah  ?  Don't  you  see  de  pityin'  look  he  's 
a-givin'  you,  a-sayin'  Come,  come  ? "  she  lost 
herself.  Some  irresistible  power  seemed  dom 
inating  her,  and  she  arose  and  went  forward, 
dropping  at  the  altar  amid  a  great  shouting  and 
8 


ANNER   'LIZER 

clapping  of  hands  and  cries  of  "  Bless  de  Lawd, 
one  mo'  recruit  fu'  de  Gospel  ahmy." 

Some  one  started  the  hymn,  "  We  '11  bow 
around  the  altar,"  and  the  refrain  was  taken  up 
by  the  congregation  with  a  fervour  that  made 
the  rafters  of  the  little  edifice  ring  again. 

The  conquest  of  Anner  'Lizer,  the  belle  of 
that  section  of  Kentucky,  was  an  event  of  great 
moment ;  and  in  spite  of  the  concentration  of 
the  worshippers'  minds  on  their  devotions,  the 
unexpected  occurrence  called  forth  a  deal  of 
discussion  among  the  brothers  and  sisters. 
Aunt  Hannah  remarked  to  Aunt  Maria,  over 
the  back  of  the  seat,  that  she  "  nevah  knowed 
de  gal  was  unner  c'nviction."  And  Aunt 
Maria  answered  solemnly,  "You  know,  sistah, 
de  Lawd  wuks  in  a  myste'ious  way  his  wondahs 
to  pu'fo'm." 

Meanwhile  the  hymn  went  on,  and  above  it 
rose  the  voice  of  the  minister  :  "  We  want  all 
de  Christuns  in  de  house  to  draw  up  aroun'  de 
altah,  whar  de  fiah  is  bu'nin' :  you  know  in  de 
wintah  time  when  hit 's  col'  you  crowds  up  clost 
to  de  fiahplace ;  so  now  ef  you  wants  to  git 
spi'tually  wa'm,  you  mus'  be  up  whar  de  fiah 
is."  There  was  a  great  scrambling  and  shuf- 
9 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

fling  of   feet    as    the    members    rose   with   one 

Q 

accord  to   crowd,  singing,  around  the  altar. 

Two  of  the  rude  benches  had  been  placed 
end  to  end  before  the  pulpit,  so  that  they 
extended  nearly  the  full  width  of  the  little 
church;  and  at  these  knelt  a  dozen  or  more 
mourners,  swaying  and  writhing  under  the  bur 
den  of  their  sins. 

The  song  being  ended,  the  preacher  said : 
"  Brer'  Adams,  please  tek  up  de  cross."  Dur 
ing  the  momentary  lull  that  intervened  between 
the  end  of  the  song  and  the  prayer,  the  wails 
and  supplications  of  the  mourners  sounded  out 
with  weird  effect.  Then  Brer'  Adams,  a  white- 
haired  patriarch,  knelt  and  "  took  up  the  cross." 

Earnestly  he  besought  the  divine  mercy  in 
behalf  of  "  de  po'  sinnahs,  a-rollin'  an'  a-tossin' 
in  de  tempes'  of  dere  sins.  Lawd,"  he  prayed, 
"  come  down  dis  evenin'  in  Sperit's  powah  to 
seek  an'  to  save-ah  ;  let  us  heah  de  rumblin' 
of  yo'  cha'iot  wheels-ah  lak  de  thundah  f'om 
Mount  Sinai-ah  ;  oh,  Lawd-ah,  convert  mou'nahs 
an'  convict  sinnahs-ah  j  show  'em  dat  dey  mus' 
die  an'  cain't  lib  an'  atter  death  to  judg-a- 
ment ;  tu'n  'em  aroun'  befo'  it  is  evahlastin'  an' 
eternally  too  late."  Then  warming  more  and 

10 


ANNER   'LIZER 

more,  and  swaying  his  form  back  and  forth,  as 
he  pounded  the  seat  in  emphasis,  he  began  to 
wail  out  in  a  sort  of  indescribable  monotone  : 
"  O  Lawd,  save  de  mou'nah  !  " 

"  Save  de  mou'nah  !  "  came  the  response 
from  all  over  the  church. 

"  He'p  'em  out  of  de  miah  an'  quicksan's 
of  dere  sins  !  " 

"  He'p,  Lawd  !  " 

"  And  place  deir  feet  upon  de  evahlastin' 
an'  eternal  rock-ah  !  " 

"  Do,  Lawd  !  " 

"  O  Lawd-ah,  shake  a  dyin'  sinnah  ovah 
hell  an'  fo'bid  his  mighty  fall-ah !  " 

"  O  Lawd,  shake  'em ! "  came  from  the 
congregation. 

By  this  time  every  one  was  worked  up  to  a 
high  state  of  excitement,  and  the  prayer  came 
to  an  end  amid  great  commotion.  Then  a 
rich,  mellow  voice  led  out  with : 

"  Sabe  de  mou'nah  jes'  now, 
Sabe  de  mou'nah  jes'  now, 
Sabe  de  mou'nah  jes'  now, 
Only  trust  Him  jes'  now, 
Only  trust  Him  jes'  now, 
He'p  de  sinnah  jes'  now  ;  " 
ii 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

and  so  to  indefinite  length  the  mournful  minor 
melody  ran  along  like  a  sad  brook  flowing 
through  autumn  woods,  trying  to  laugh  and 
ripple  through  tears. 

Every  now  and  then  some  mourner  would 
spring  half  up,  with  a  shriek,  and  then  sink 
down  again  trembling  and  jerking  spasmodi 
cally.  "  He  's  a-doubtin',  he  's  a-doubtin'  !  " 
the  cry  would  fly  around ;  "  but  I  tell  you  he 
purt'  nigh  had  it  that  time." 

Finally,  the  slender  form  of  Anner  'Lizer  began 
to  sway  backward  and  forward,  like  a  sapling  in  the 
wind,  and  she  began  to  mourn  and  weep  aloud. 

"  Praise  de  Lawd  !  "  shouted  Aunt  Hannah, 
"  de  po'  soul 's  gittin'  de  evidence :  keep  on, 
honey,  de  Lawd  ain't  fa'  ofF."  The  sudden 
change  attracted  considerable  attention,  and  in 
a  moment  a  dozen  or  more  zealous  altar- 
workers  gathered  around  Anner  'Lizer,  and  began 
to  clap  and  sing  with  all  their  might,  keeping 
time  to .  the  melodious  cadence  of  their  music 
with  heavy  foot-pats  on  the  resounding  floor. 

"  Git  on  boa'd-ah,  little  childering, 

Git  on  boa'd-ah,  little  childering, 

Git  on  boa'd-ah,  little  childering, 

Dere  's  room  fo'  many  mo'. 

12 


ANNER   'LIZER 

"  De  gospel  ship  is  sailin', 
It 's  loaded  down  wid  souls. 
If  you  want  to  mek  heab'n  yo'  happy  home, 
You  mus'  ketch  it  'fo'  it  goes. 
Git  on  boa'd,  etc. 

"  King  Jesus  at  de  helium, 
Fu'  to  guide  de  ship  erright. 
We  gwine  fu'  to  put  into  heab'n's  po't 
Wid  ouah  sails  all  shinin'  white. 
Git  on  boa'd/'  etc. 

With  a  long  dwell  on  the  last  word  of  the 
chorus,  the  mellow  cadence  of  the  song  died 
away. 

"  Let  us  bow  down  fu'  a  season  of  silent 
praar,"  said  the  minister. 

"  Lawd,  he'p  us  to  pray,"  responded  Uncle 
Eben  Adams. 

The  silence  that  ensued  was  continually 
broken  by  the  wavering  wail  of  the  mourners. 
Suddenly  one  of  them,  a  stalwart  young  man, 
near  the  opening  of  the  aisle,  began  to  writhe 
and  twist  himself  into  every  possible  contortion, 
crying :  "  O  Lawd,  de  devil 's  a-rjdin'  me  ;  tek 
him  off — tek  him  off!" 

"  Tek  him  off,  Lawd  !  "  shouted  the  congre 
gation. 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

Then  suddenly,  without  warning,  the  mourner 
rose  straight  up  into  the  air,  shouting,  "  Halle 
lujah,  hallelujah,  hallelujah  !  " 

"  He  's  got  it  —  he  's  got  it !  "  cried  a  dozen 
eager  worshippers,  leaping  to  their  feet  and 
crowding  around  the  happy  convert;  "bless  de 
Lawd,  he's  got  it."  A  voice  was  raised,  and 
soon  the  church  was  ringing  with 

"  Loose  him  and  let  him  go, 
Let  him  shout  to  glory." 

On  went  the  man,  shouting  "  Hallelujah," 
shaking  hands,  and  bounding  over  seats  in  the 
ecstasy  of  his  bliss. 

His  conversion  kindled  the  flame  of  the  meet 
ing  and  set  the  fire  going.  You  have  seen 
corn  in  the  popper  when  the  first  kernel  springs 
up  and  flares  open,  how  quickly  the  rest  follow, 
keeping  up  the  steady  pop,  pop,  pop ;  well, 
just  so  it  was  after  this  first  conversion.  The 
mourners  popped  up  quickly  and  steadily  as  the 
strength  of  the  spiritual  fire  seemed  to  reach 
their  swelling  souls.  One  by  one  they  left  the 
bench  on  which,  figuratively  speaking,  they 
may  be  said  to  have  laid  down  their  sins  and 
proclaimed  themselves  possessors  of  religion ; 
14 


ANNER   'LIZER 

until,  finally,  there  was  but  one  left,  and  that 
one  —  Anner  'Lizer.  She  had  ceased  from  her 
violent  activity,  and  seemed  perfectly  passive 
now. 

The  efforts  of  all  were  soon  concentrated  on 
her,  and  such  stamping  and  clapping  and  sing 
ing  was  never  heard  before.  Such  cries  of 
"  Jes'  look  up,  sistah,  don't  you  see  Him  at 
yo'  side  ?  Jes'  reach  out  yo'  han'  an'  tech  de 
hem  of  His  ga'ment.  Jes'  listen,  sistah,  don't 
you  heah  de  angels  singin'  ?  don't  you  heah  de 
rumblin'  of  de  cha'iot  wheels  ?  He  's  a-comin', 
He  's  a-comin',  He  's  a-comin'  !  " 

But  Anner  'Lizer  was  immovable;  with  her 
face  lying  against  the  hard  bench,  she  moaned 
and  prayed  softly  to  herself.  The  congregation 
redoubled  its  exertions,  but  all  to  no  effect, 
Anner  'Lizer  wouldn't  "come  thoo." 

It  was  a  strange  case.  . 

Aunt  Maria  whispered  to  her  bosom  friend  : 
"  You  min'  me,  Sistah  Hannah,  dere  's  sump'n' 
on  dat  gal's  min'."  And  Aunt  Hannah  an 
swered  :  "  I  believe  you." 

Josephine,  or  more  commonly  Phiny,  a  former 
belle  whom  Anner  'Lizer's  superior  charms  had 
deposed,  could  not  lose  this  opportunity  to  have 
15 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

a  fling  at  her  successful  rival.  Of  course  such 
cases  of  vindictiveness  in  women  are  rare,  and 
Phiny  was  exceptional  when  she  whispered  to 
her  fellow-servant,  Lucy  :  "  I  reckon  she  'd  git 
'ligion  if  Sam  Me'itt  was  heah  to  see  her." 
Lucy  snickered,  as  in  duty  bound,  and  whispered 
back  :  "  I  wisht  you  'd  heish." 

Well,  after  all  their  singing,  in  spite  of  all 
their  efforts,  the  time  came  for  closing  the  meet 
ing  and  Anner  'Lizer  had  not  yet  made  a 
profession. 

She  was  lifted  tenderly  up  from  the  mourner's 
bench  by  a  couple  of  solicitous  sisters,  and  after 
listening  to  the  preacher's  exhortation  to  "  pray 
constantly,  thoo  de  day  an'  thoo  de  night,  in  de 
highways  an'  de  byways  an'  in  yo'  secret  closet," 
she  went  home  praying  in  her  soul,  leaving  the 
rest  of  the  congregation  to  loiter  along  the  way 
and  gossip  over  the  night's  events. 

All  the  next  day  Anner  'Lizer,  erstwhile  so 
cheerful,  went  about  her  work  sad  and  silent ; 
every  now  and  then  stopping  in  the  midst  of 
her  labours  and  burying  her  face  in  her  neat 
white  apron  to  sob  violently.  It  was  true, 
as  Aunt  Hannah  expressed,  that  "  de  Sperit 
16 


ANNER   'LIZER 

had  sholy  tuk  holt  of  dat  gal  wid  a  powahful 
han'." 

All  of  her  fellow-servants  knew  that  she  was 
a  mourner,  and  with  that  characteristic  rever 
ence  for  religion  which  is  common  to  all  their 
race,  and  not  lacking  even  in  the  most  hardened 
sinner  among  them,  they  respected  her  feelings. 
Phiny  alone,  when  she  met  her,  tossed  her  head 
and  giggled  openly.  But  Phiny's  actions  never 
troubled  Anner  'Lizer,  for  she  felt  herself  so  far 
above  her.  Once  though,  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  she  had  been  somewhat  disturbed,  when 
she  had  suddenly  come  upon  her  rival,  standing 
in  the  spring-house  talking  and  laughing  with 
Sam.  She  noticed,  too,  with  a  pang,  that  Phiny 
had  tied  a  bow  of  red  ribbon  on  her  hair.  She 
shut  her  lips  and  only  prayed  the  harder.  But 
an  hour  later,  somehow,  a  ribbon  as  red  as 
Phiny's  had  miraculously  attached  itself  to  her 
thick  black  plaits.  Was  the  temporal  creeping 
in  with  the  spiritual  in  Anner  'Lizer's  mind  ? 
Who  can  tell  ?  Perhaps  she  thought  that, 
while  cultivating  the  one,  she  need  not  utterly 
neglect  the  other ;  and  who  says  but  that  she 
was  right  ? 

Uncle  Eben,  however,  did  not  take  this  view 
2  I7 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

of  the  matter  when  he  came  hobbling  up  in  the 
afternoon  to  exhort  her  a  little.  He  found  Anner 
'Lizer  in  the  kitchen  washing  dishes.  Engrossed 
in  the  contemplation  of  her  spiritual  state,  or 
praying  for  deliverance  from  the  same,  through 
the  whole  day  she  had  gone  about  without  speak 
ing  to  any  one.  But  with  Uncle  Eben  it  was, 
of  course,  different ;  for  he  was  a  man  held  in 
high  respect  by  all  the  negroes  and,  next  to  the 
minister,  the  greatest  oracle  in  those  parts ;  so 
Anner  'Lizer  spoke  to  him. 

"  Howdy,  UncP  Eben,"  she  said,  in  a  lugu 
brious  tone,  as  the  old  man  hobbled  in  and 
settled  down  in  a  convenient  corner. 

"  Howdy,  honey,  howdy,"  he  replied,  cross 
ing  one  leg  over  the  other,  as  he  unwound  his 
long  bandana,  placed  it  in  his  hat,  and  then 
deposited  his  heavy  cane  on  the  white  floor. 
"  I  jes'  thought  I  'd  drap  in  to  ax  you  how  do 
you  do  to-day  ?  " 

"  Po'  enough,  UncP  Eben,  fu'  sho." 
"  Ain't  foun'  no  res'  fu'  yo'  soul  yit  ?  " 
"No  res'  yit,"  answered  Anner  'Lizer,  again 
applying  the  apron  to  her  already  swollen  eyes. 
"  Um-m,"  sighed    the  old    man,  meditatively 
tapping  his  foot ;    and    then    the    gay  flash  of 
18 


A    VISIT    FROM    UNCLK    KBKN. 


ANNER   'LIZER 

Anner  'Lizer's  ribbon  caught  his  eye  and  he 
gasped  :  "  Bless  de  Lawd,  Sis  'Lizer ;  you  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  dat  you 's  gwin  'bout  heah 
seekin'  wid  yo'  har  tied  up  in  ribbon  ?  Whut ! 
tek  it  off,  honey,  tek  it  off;  ef  yo'  wants  yo' 
soul  saved,  tek  it  off!  " 

Anner  'Lizer  hesitated,  and  raised  her  eyes 
in  momentary  protest ;  but  they  met  the  horrified 
gaze  of  the  old  man,  and  she  lowered  them 
again  as  her  hand  went  reluctantly  up  to  her 
head  to  remove  the  offending  bit  of  finery. 

"  You  see,  honey,"  Uncle  Eben  went  on, 
"  when  you  sta'ts  out  on  de  Christian  jou'ney, 
you  's  got  to  lay  aside  evry  weight  dat  doeth 
so  easy  beset  you  an'  keeps  you  f'om  per- 
gressin' ;  y'  ain't  got  to  think  nothin'  'bout  pus- 
sunal  'dornment ;  you 's  jes'  got  to  shet  yo'  eyes 
an'  open  yo'  hea't  an'  say,  Lawd,  come ;  you 
must  n't  wait  fu'  to  go  to  chu'ch  to  pray,  nuther, 
you  mus'  pray  anywhar  an'  ev'rywhar.  Why, 
when  I  was  seekin',  I  ust  to  go  'way  off  up  in 
de  big  woods  to  pray,  an'  dere  's  whar  de  Lawd 
answered  me,  an'  I  'm  a-rejoicin'  to-day  in  de 
powah  of  de  same  salvation.  Honey,  you 's 
got  to  pray,  I  tell  you.  You  's  got  to  brek  de 
backbone  of  yo'  pride  an'  pray  in  earnes' ; 
19 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

an'  ef  you  does  dat,  you  '11  git  he'p,  fu'  de 
Lawd  is  a  praar-heahin'  Lawd  an'  plenteous  in 
mussy." 

Anner  'Lizer  listened  attentively  to  the  ex 
hortation,  and  evidently  profited  by  it ;  for  soon 
after  Uncle  Eben's  departure  she  changed  her 
natty  little  dress  for  one  less  pretentious,  and 
her  dainty,  frilled  white  muslin  apron  gave  way 
to  a  broad  dark  calico  one.  If  grace  was  to  be 
found  by  self-abnegation  in  the  matter  of  dress, 
Anner  'Lizer  was  bound  to  have  it  at  any 
price. 

As  afternoon  waned  and  night  came  on,  she 
grew  more  and  more  serious,  and  more  frequent 
recourse  was  had  to  the  corner  of  her  apron. 
She  even  failed  to  see  Phiny  when  that  enter 
prising  young  person  passed  her,  decked  out  in 
the  whitest  of  white  cuffs  and  collars  setting  off 
in  pleasant  contrast  her  neat  dark  dress.  Phiny 
giggled  again  and  put  up  her  hand,  ostensibly 
to  brush  some  imaginary  dust  from  her  bosom, 
but  really  to  show  her  pretty  white  cuffs  with 
their  big  bone  buttons.  But  it  was  all  lost 
on  Anner  'Lizer ;  her  gaze  was  downcast  and 
her  thoughts  far  away.  If  any  one  was  ever 
"  seekin'  "  in  earnest,  this  girl  was. 

20 


ANNER   'LIZER 

Night  came,  and  with  it  the  usual  services. 
Anner  'Lizer  was  one  of  the  earliest  of  the 
congregation  to  arrive,  and  she  went  immedi 
ately  to  the  mourner's  bench.  In  the  language 
of  the  congregation,  "  Eldah  Johnsing  sholy  did 
preach  a  powahful  sermon  "  that  night.  More 
sinners  were  convicted  and  brought  to  their 
knees,  and,  as  before,  these  recruits  were  con 
verted  and  Anner  'Lizer  left.  What  was  the 
matter  ? 

That  was  the  question  which  every  one 
asked,  but  there  were  none  found  who  could 
answer  it.  The  circumstance  was  all  the  more 
astounding  from  the  fact  that  this  unsuccessful 
mourner  had  not  been  a  very  wicked  girl.  In 
deed,  it  was  to  have  been  expected  that  she 
might  shake  her  sins  from  her  shoulders  as 
she  would  discard  a  mantle,  and  step  over  on 
the  Lord's  side.  But  it  was  not  so. 

But  when  a  third  night  came  and  passed  with 
the  same  result,  it  became  the  talk  of  three 
plantations.  To  be  sure,  cases  were  not  lack 
ing  where  people  had  "  mourned  "  a  week,  two 
weeks,  or  even  a  month  ;  but  they  were  woful 
sinners  and  those  were  times  of  less  spiritual 
interest;  but  under  circumstances  so  favourable 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

as  were  now  presented,  that  one  could  long 
refrain  from  "  gittin'  religion  "  was  the  wonder 
of  all.  So,  after  the  third  night,  everybody 
wondered  and  talked,  and  not  a  few  began  to 
lean  to  Phiny's  explanation,  that  "  de  ole  snek 
in  de  grass  had  be'n  a-goin'  on  doin'  all  her 
dev'ment  on  de  sly,  so  's  people  would  n't  know 
it ;  but  de  Lawd  he  did,  an'  he  payin'  her  up 
fu'  it  now." 

Sam  Merritt  alone  did  not  talk,  and  seemed 
perfectly  indifferent  to  all  that  was  said;  when 
he  was  in  Phiny's  company  and  she  rallied  him 
about  the  actions  of  his  "  gal,"  he  remained 
silent. 

On  the  fourth  night  of  Anner  'Lizer's 
mourning,  the  congregation  gathered  as  usual  at 
the  church.  For  the  first  half-hour  all  went 
on  as  usual,  and  the  fact  that  Anner  'Lizer  was 
absent  caused  no  remark,  for  every  one  thought 
she  would  come  in  later.  But  time  passed  and 
she  did  not  come.  "  Eldah  Johnsing's  "  flock 
became  agitated.  Of  course  there  were  other 
mourners,  but  the  one  particular  one  was  absent ; 
hence  the  dissatisfaction.  Every  head  in  the 
house  was  turned  toward  the  door,  whenever 
it  was  opened  by  some  late  comer;  and  around 

22 


ANNER   'LIZER 

flew  the  whisper,  "  I  wunner  ef  she 's  quit 
mou'nin' ;  you  ain't  heerd  of  her  gittin'  'ligion, 
have  you  ?  "  No  one  had. 

Meanwhile  t;he  object  of  their  solicitude  was 
praying  just  the  same,  but  in  a  far  different 
place.  Grasping,  as  she  was,  at  everything 
that  seemed  to  give  her  promise  of  relief,  some 
how  Uncle  Eben's  words  had  had  a  deep  effect 
upon  her.  So,  when  night  fell  and  her  work 
was  over,  she  had  gone  up  into  the  woods  to 
pray.  She  had  prayed  long  without  success, 
and  now  she  was  crying  aloud  from  the  very 
fulness  of  her  heart,  "  O  Lawd,  sen'  de  light  — 
sen'  de  light !  "  Suddenly,  as  if  in  answer  to 
her  prayer,  a  light  appeared  before  her  some 
distance  away. 

The  sudden  attainment  of  one's  desires  often 
shocks  one  j  so  with  our  mourner.  For  a  mo 
ment  her  heart  stood  still  and  the  thought  came 
to  her  to  flee ;  but  her  mind  flashed  back  over 
the  words  of  one  of  the  hymns  she  had  heard 
down  at  church,  "  Let  us  walk  in  de  light ;  " 
and  she  knew  that  before  she  walked  in  the 
light  she  must  walk  toward  it.  So  she  rose  and 
started  in  the  direction  of  the  light.  How  it 
flickered  and  flared,  disappeared  and  reappeared, 
23 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

rose  and  fell,  even  as  her  spirits,  as  she  stumbled 
and  groped  her  way  over  fallen  logs  and  through 
briers.  Her  limbs  were  bruised  and  her  dress 
torn  by  the  thorns.  But  she  heeded  it  not,  she 
had  fixed  her  eye  —  physical  and  spiritual  —  on 
the  light  before  her.  It  drew  her  with  an  irre 
sistible  fascination.  Suddenly  she  stopped.  An 
idea  had  occurred  to  her !  Maybe  this  light 
was  a  Jack-o'-lantern !  For  a  moment  she 
hesitated,  then  promptly  turned  her  pocket 
wrong  side  out,  murmuring,  "  De  Lawd  '11  tek 
keer  o'  me."  On  she  started;  but,  lo!  the  light 
had  disappeared !  What !  had  the  turning  of 
the  pocket  indeed  worked  so  potent  a  charm  ? 

But  no !  it  reappeared  as  she  got  beyond 
the  intervention  of  a  brush  pile  which  had  ob 
scured  it.  The  light  grew  brighter  as  she  grew 
fainter ;  but  she  clasped  her  hands  and  raised 
her  eyes  in  unwavering  faith,  for  she  found 
that  the  beacon  did  not  recede,  but  glowed  with 
a  steady  and  stationary  flame. 

As  she  drew  near,  the  sound  of  sharp  strokes 
came  to  her  ears,  and  she  wondered.  Then,  as 
she  slipped  into  the  narrow  circle  of  light,  she 
saw  that  it  was  made  by  a  taper  which  was  set 
on  a  log.  The  strokes  came  from  a  man  who 
24 


ANNER   'LIZER 

was  chopping  down  a  tree  in  which  a  'coon 
seemed  to  have  taken  refuge.  It  needed  no 
second  glance  at  the  stalwart  shoulders  to  tell 
her  that  the  man  was  —  Sam.  Her  step  at 
tracted  his  attention,  and  he  turned. 

«  Sam  !  " 

"  Anner  'Lizer  !  " 

And  then  they  both  stood  still,  too  amazed 
to  speak.  Finally  she  walked  across  to  where 
he  was  standing,  and  said  :  "  Sam,  I  did  n't 
come  out  heah  to  fin'  you,  but  de  Lawd  has 
'p'inted  it  so,  'ca'se  he  knowed  I  orter  speak  to 
you."  Sam  leaned  hopelessly  on  his  axe ;  he 
thought  she  was  going  to  exhort  him. 

AnneT  'Lizer  went  on  :  "  Sam,  you 's  my 
stumblin'  block  in  de  highroad  to  salvation  ;  I 's 
be'n  tryin'  to  git  'ligion  fu'  fou'  nights,  an'  I 
cain't  do  it  jes'  on  yo'  'count ;  I  prays  an' 
I  prays,  an'  jes'  as  I 's  a'mos'  got  it,  jes'  as  I 
begin  to  heah  de  cha'iot  wheels  a-rollin',  yo' 
face  comes  right  in  'tween  an'  drives  it  all  away. 
Tell  me,  now,  Sam,  so  's  to  put  me  out  ov  my 
'spense,  does  you  want  to  ma'y  me,  er  is  you 
goin'  to  ma'y  Phiny  ?  I  jes'  wants  you  to  tell 
me,  not  dat  I  keers  pussonally,  but  so  's  my 
min'  kin  be  at  res'  spi'tu'lly,  an'  I  kin  git  'ligion. 

25 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

Jes'  say  yes  er  no ;  I  wants  to  be  settled  one 
way  er  't  other." 

"Anner  'Lizer,"  said  Sam,  reproachfully, 
"  you  know  I  wants  to  ma'y  you  jes'  ez  soon 
ez  Mas'  Rob  '11  let  me." 

"  Dere  now,"  said  Anner  'Lizer,  "  bless  de 
Lawd !  "  And,  somehow,  Sam  had  dropped 
the  axe  and  was  holding  her  in  his  arms. 

It  boots  not  whether  the  'coon  was  caught 
that  night  or  not ;  but  it  is  a  fact  that  Anner 
'Lizer  set  the  whole  place  afire  by  getting  re 
ligion  at  home  early  the  next  morning.  And  the 
same  night  the  minister  announced  "  dat  de 
Lawd  had  foun'  out  de  sistah's  stumblin'  block 
an'  removed  it  f'om  de  path." 


26 


THE   ORDEAL  AT 
MT.   HOPE 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

"  AND  this  is  Mt.  Hope,"  said  the  Rev.  Howard 
Dokesbury  to  himself  as  he  descended,  bag  in 
hand,  from  the  smoky,  dingy  coach,  or  part  of 
a  coach,  which  was  assigned  to  his  people,  and 
stepped  upon  the  rotten  planks  of  the  station 
platform.  The  car  he  had  just  left  was  not  a 
palace,  nor  had  his  reception  by  his  fellow- 
passengers  or  his  intercourse  with  them  been  of 
such  cordial  nature  as  to  endear  them  to  him. 
But  he  watched  the  choky  little  engine  with 
its  three  black  cars  wind  out  of  sight  with  a 
look  as  regretful  as  if  he  were  witnessing  the 
departure  of  his  dearest  friend.  Then  he  turned 
his  attention  again  to  his  surroundings,  and  a 
sigh  welled  up  from  his  heart.  "  And  this  is 
Mt.  Hope,"  he  repeated.  A  note  in  his  voice 
indicated  that  he  fully  appreciated  the  spirit  of 
keen  irony  in  which  the  place  had  been  named. 
The  colour  scheme  of  the  picture  that  met 
his  eyes  was  in  dingy  blacks  and  grays.  The 
29 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

building  that  held  the  ticket,  telegraph,  and 
train  despatchers'  offices  was  a  miserably  old 
ramshackle  affair,  standing  well  in  the  foreground 
of  this  scene  of  gloom  and  desolation.  Its  win 
dows  were  so  coated  with  smoke  and  grime  that 
they  seemed  to  have  been  painted  over  in  order 
to  secure  secrecy  within.  Here  and  there  a  lazy 
cur  lay  drowsily  snapping  at  the  flies,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  station,  perched  on  boxes  or  leaning 
against  the  wall,  making  a  living  picture  of  equal 
laziness,  stood  a  group  of  idle  Negroes  exchang 
ing  rude  badinage  with  their  white  counterparts 
across  the  street. 

After  a  while  this  bantering  interchange  would 
grow  more  keen  and  personal,  a  free-for-all 
friendly  fight  would  follow,  and  the  newspaper 
correspondent  in  that  section  would  write  it  up 
as  a  "  race  war."  But  this  had  not  happened 
yet  that  day. 

"  This  is  Mt.  Hope,"  repeated  the  new-comer ; 
"  this  is  the  field  of  my  labours." 

Rev.  Howard  Dokesbury,  as  may  already 
have  been  inferred,  was  a  Negro,  —  there  could 
be  no  mistake  about  that.  The  deep  dark  brown 
of  his  skin,  the  rich  over-fulness  of  his  lips,  and 
the  close  curl  of  his  short  black  hair  were  evi- 
30 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

dences  that  admitted  of  no  argument.  He  was 
a  finely  proportioned,  stalwart-looking  man,  with 
a  general  air  of  self-possession  and  self-sufficiency 
in  his  manner.  There  was  firmness  in  the  set 
of  his  lips.  A  reader  of  character  would  have 
said  of  him,  "  Here  is  a  man  of  solid  judgment, 
careful  in  deliberation,  prompt  in  execution,  and 
decisive." 

It  was  the  perception  in  him  of  these  very 
qualities  which  had  prompted  the  authorities  of 
the  little  college  where  he  had  taken  his  degree 
and  received  his  theological  training,  to  urge  him 
to  go  among  his  people  at  the  South,  and  there 
to  exert  his  powers  for  good  where  the  field  was 
broad  and  the  labourers  few. 

Born  of  Southern  parents  from  whom  he  had 
learned  many  of  the  superstitions  and  traditions 
of  the  South,  Howard  Dokesbury  himself  had 
never  before  been  below  Mason  and  Dixon's  line. 
But  with  a  confidence  born  of  youth  and  a  con 
sciousness  of  personal  power,  he  had  started 
South  with  the  idea  that  he  knew  the  people 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  and  was  equipped 
with  the  proper  weapons  to  cope  with  their 
shortcomings. 

But  as  he  looked  around  upon  the  scene  which 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

now  met  his  eye,  a  doubt  arose  in  his  mind. 
He  picked  up  his  bag  with  a  sigh,  and  approached 
a  man  who  had  been  standing  apart  from  the 
rest  of  the  loungers  and  regarding  him  with 
indolent  intentness. 

"  Could  you  direct  me  to  the  house  of  Stephen 
Gray  ?  "  asked  the  minister. 

The  interrogated  took  time  to  change  his 
position  from  left  foot  to  right  and  to  shift  his 
quid,  before  he  drawled  forth,  "  I  reckon  you  's 
de  new  Mefdis  preachah,  huh  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Howard,  in  the  most  concilia 
tory  tone  he  could  command,  "  and  I  hope  I 
find  in  you  one  of  my  flock." 

"No,  suh,  I's  a  Babtist  myse'f.  I  wa' n't 
raised  up  no  place  erroun'  Mt.  Hope ;  I  'm  na- 
chelly  f'om  way  up  in  Adams  County.  Dey  jes' 
sont  me  down  hyeah  to  fin'  you  an'  to  tek  you 
up  to  Steve's.  Steve,  he  's  workin'  to-day  an' 
could  n't  come  down." 

He  laid  particular  stress  upon  the  "  to-day," 
as  if  Steve's  spell  of  activity  were  not  an  every 
day  occurrence. 

"  Is  it  far  from  here  ?  "  asked  Dokesbury. 

"  'T  ain't  mo'  'n  a  mile  an'  a  ha'f  by  de  shawt 
cut." 

32 


THE   ORDEAL   AT  MT.    HOPE 

"  Well,  then,  let 's  take  the  short  cut,  by  all 
means,"  said  the  preacher. 

They  trudged  along  for  a  while  in  silence,  and 
then  the  young  man  asked,  "  What  do  you  men 
about  here  do  mostly  for  a  living  ? " 

"  Oh,  well,  we  does  odd  jobs,  we  saws  an' 
splits  wood  an'  totes  bundles,  an'  some  of  'em 
raises  gyahden,  but  mos'  of  us,  we  fishes.  De 
fish  bites  an'  we  ketches  'em.  Sometimes  we 
eats  'em  an'  sometimes  we  sells  'em  ;  a  string 
o'  fish  '11  bring  a  peck  o'  co'n  any  time." 

"  And  is  that  all  you  do  ?  " 

"  'Bout." 

"  Why,  I  don't  see  how  you  live  that  way." 

"  Oh,  we  lives  all  right,"  answered  the  man ; 
"  we  has  plenty  to  eat  an'  drink,  an'  clothes  to 
wear,  an'  some  place  to  stay.  I  reckon  folks 
ain't  got  much  use  fu'  nuffin'  mo'." 

Dokesbury  sighed.  Here  indeed  was  virgin 
soil  for  his  ministerial  labours.  His  spirits 
were  not  materially  raised  when,  some  time  later, 
he  came  in  sight  of  the  house  which  was  to  be 

O 

his  abode.  To  be  sure,  it  was  better  than  most 
of  the  houses  which  he  had  seen  in  the  Negro 
part  of  Mt.  Hope ;  but  even  at  that  it  was  far 
from  being  good  or  comfortable-looking.  It 
3  33 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

was  small  and  mean  in  appearance.  The 
weather  boarding  was  broken,  and  in  some  places 
entirely  fallen  away,  showing  the  great  unhewn 
logs  beneath ;  while  off  the  boards  that  re 
mained  the  whitewash  had  peeled  in  scrofulous 
spots. 

The  minister's  guide  went  up  to  the  closed 
door,  and  rapped  loudly  with  a  heavy  stick. 

"  G'  'way  f 'om  dah,  an'  quit  you'  foolin'," 
came  in  a  large  voice  from  within. 

The  guide  grinned,  and  rapped  again.  There 
was  a  sound  of  shuffling  feet  and  the  pushing 
back  of  a  chair,  and  then  the  same  voice  saying  : 
"  I  bet  I  '11  mek  you  git  away  f 'om  dat  do'." 

"  Dat 's  A'nt  Ca'line,"  the  guide  said,  and 
laughed. 

The  door  was  flung  back  as  quickly  as  its 
worn  hinges  and  sagging  bottom  would  allow, 
and  a  large  body  surmounted  by  a  face  like  a 
big  round  full  moon  presented  itself  in  the 
opening.  A  broomstick  showed  itself  ag 
gressively  in  one  fat  shiny  hand. 

"  It 's  you,  Tom  Scott,  is  it  —  youtrif 'nin'  — " 
and  then,  catching  sight  of  the  stranger,  her  whole 
manner  changed,  and  she  dropped  the  broomstick 
with  an  embarrassed  "  'Scuse  me,  suh." 
34 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

Tom  chuckled  all  over  as  he  said,  "  A'nt 
Ca'line,  dis  is  yo'  new  preachah." 

The  big  black  face  lighted  up  with  a  broad 
smile  as  the  old  woman  extended  her  hand  and 
enveloped  that  of  the  young  minister's. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said.  "  I 's  mighty  glad  to 
see  you  —  that  no-'count  Tom  come  put'  nigh 
mekin'  me  'spose  myse'f."  Then  turning  to 
Tom,  she  exclaimed  with  good-natured  severity, 
u  An'  you  go  'long,  you  scoun'll  you  !  " 

The  preacher  entered  the  cabin  —  it  was 
hardly  more  —  and  seated  himself  in  the  rush- 
bottomed  chair  which  A'nt  Ca'line  had  been 
industriously  polishing  with  her  apron. 

"  An'  now,  Brothah  —  " 

"  Dokesbury,"  supplemented  the  young  man. 

"  Brothah  Dokesbury,  I  jes'  want  you  to 
mek  yo'se'f  at  home  right  erway.  I  know 
you  ain't  use  to  ouah  ways  down  hyeah  ;  but  you 
jes'  got  to  set  in  an'  git  ust  to  'em.  You 
mus'  n't  feel  bad  ef  things  don't  go  yo'  way  f 'om 
de  ve'y  fust.  Have  you  got  a  mammy  ?  " 

The  question  was  very  abrupt,  and  a  lump 

suddenly  jumped  up  in  Dokesbury's  throat  and 

pushed  the  water  into  his  eyes.      He  did  have  a 

mother  away  back  there  at  home.     She  was  all 

35 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

alone,  and  he  was  her  heart  and  the  hope  of  her 
life. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  've  got  a  little  mother  up 
there  in  Ohio." 

"  Well,  I  's  gwine  to  be  yo'  mothah  down 
hyeah  ;  dat  is,  ef  I  ain't  too  rough  an'  common 
fu'  you." 

"  Hush  !  "  exclaimed  the  preacher,  and  he 
got  up  and  took  the  old  lady's  hand  in  both 
of  his  own.  "You  shall  be  my  mother  down 
here ;  you  shall  help  me,  as  you  have  done  to 
day.  I  feel  better  already." 

"  I  knowed  you  would ;  "  and  the  old  face 
beamed  on  the  young  one.  "  An'  now  jes'  go 
out  de  do'  dah  an'  wash  yo'  face.  Dey  's  a 
pan  an'  soap  an'  watah  right  dah,  an'  hyeah  's 
a  towel ;  den  you  kin  go  right  into  yo'  room, 
fu'  I  knows  you  want  to  be  erlone  fu'  a  while. 
I  '11  fix  yo'  suppah  while  you  rests." 

He  did  as  he  was  bidden.  On  a  rough  bench 
outside  the  door,  he  found  a  basin  and  a  bucket 
of  water  with  a  tin  dipper  in  it.  To  one  side, 
in  a  broken  saucer,  lay  a  piece  of  coarse  soap. 
The  facilities  for  copious  ablutions  were  not 
abundant,  but  one  thing  the  minister  noted  with 
pleasure  :  the  towel,  which  was  rough  and  hurt 
36 


THE    ORDEAL  AT   MT.    HOPE 

his  skin,  was,  nevertheless,  scrupulously  clean. 
He  went  to  his  room  feeling  fresher  and  better, 
and  although  he  found  the  place  little  and  dark 
and  warm,  it  too  was  clean,  and  a  sense  of 
its  homeness  began  to  take  possession  of  him. 

The  room  was  off  the  main  living-room 
into  which  he  had  been  first  ushered.  It  had 
one  small  window  that  opened  out  on  a  fairly 
neat  yard.  A  table  with  a  chair  before  it  stood 
beside  the  window,  and  across  the  room  —  if 
the  three  feet  of  space  which  intervened  could 
be  called  "  across  "  —  stood  the  little  bed  with 
its  dark  calico  quilt  and  white  pillows.  There 
was  no  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  the  absence  of 
a  washstand  indicated  very  plainly  that  the  occu 
pant  was  expected  to  wash  outside.  The  young 
minister  knelt  for  a  few  minutes  beside  the  bed, 
and  then  rising  cast  himself  into  the  chair  to 
rest. 

It  was  possibly  half  an  hour  later  when  his 
partial  nap  was  broken  in  upon  by  the  sound  of 
a  gruff  voice  from  without  saying,  "  He  's  hyeah, 
is  he  —  oomph  !  Well,  what 's  he  ac'  lak  ? 
Want  us  to  git  down  on  ouah  knees  an'  crawl 
to  him  ?  If  he  do,  I  reckon  he  '11  fin'  dat  Mt. 
Hope  ain't  de  place  fo'  him." 
37 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

The  minister  did  not  hear  the  answer,  which 
was  in  a  low  voice  and  came,  he  conjectured, 
from  Aunt  '  Ca'line ' ;  but  the  gruff  voice  sub 
sided,  and  there  was  the  sound  of  footsteps  going 
out  of  the  room.  A  tap  came  on  the  preacher's 
door,  and  he  opened  it  to  the  old  woman.  She 
smiled  reassuringly. 

"  Dat  'uz  my  ol'  man,"  she  said.  "  I  sont 
him  out  to  git  some  wood,  so  's  I  'd  have  time 
to  post  you.  Don't  you  mind  him ,-  he 's  lots 
mo'  ba'k  dan  bite.  He 's  one  o'  dese  little 
yaller  men,  an'  you  know  dey  kin  be  powahful 
contra'y  when  dey  sets  dey  hai'd  to  it.  But  jes' 
you  treat  him  nice  an'  don't  let  on,  an'  I  '11  be 
boun'  you  '11  bring  him  erroun'  in  little  er  no 
time." 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Dokesbury  received  this  advice 
with  some  misgiving.  Albeit  he  had  assumed 
his  pleasantest  manner  when,  after  his  return  to 
the  living-room,  the  little  "  yaller "  man  came 
through  the  door  with  his  bundle  of  wood. 

He  responded  cordially  to  Aunt  Caroline's, 
"  Dis  is  my  husband,  Brothah  Dokesbury,"  and 
heartily  shook  his  host's  reluctant  hand. 

"  I  hope  I  find  you  well,  Brother  Gray,"  he 
said. 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

"  Moder't,  jes'  moder't,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Come  to  suppah  now,  bofe  o'  you,"  said 
the  old  lady,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  the  even 
ing  meal,  of  crisp  bacon,  well-fried  potatoes, 
egg-pone,  and  coffee. 

The  young  man  did  his  best  to  be  agreeable, 
but  it  was  rather  discouraging  to  receive  only 
gruff  monosyllabic  rejoinders  to  his  most  in 
teresting  observations.  But  the  cheery  old  wife 
came  bravely  to  the  rescue,  and  the  minister 
was  continually  floated  into  safety  on  the  flow 
of  her  conversation.  Now  and  then,  as  he 
talked,  he  could  catch  a  stealthy  upflashing  of 
Stephen  Gray's  eye,  as  suddenly  lowered  again, 
that  told  him  that  the  old  man  was  listening. 
But,  as  an  indication  that  they  would  get  on 
together,  the  supper,  taken  as  a  whole,  was  not 
a  success.  The  evening  that  followed  proved 
hardly  more  fortunate.  About  the  only  remarks 
that  could  be  elicited  from  the  "  little  yaller  man  " 
were  a  reluctant  "  oomph  "  or  "  oomph-uh." 

It  was  just  before  going  to  bed  that,  after  a 
period  of  reflection,  Aunt  Caroline  began  slowly : 
"We  got  a  son" — her  husband  immediately 
bristled  up  and  his  eyes  flashed,  but  the  old 
woman  went  on  j  "  he  named  'Lias,  an'  we  thinks 
39 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

a  heap  o'  'Lias,  we  does ;  but  —  "  the  old  man 
had  subsided,  but  he  bristled  up  again  at  the 
word  —  "  he  ain't  jes'  whut  we  want  him  to 
be."  Her  husband  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to 
speak  in  defence  of  his  son,  but  was  silent  in 
satisfaction  at  his  wife's  explanation :  "  'Lias 
ain't  bad  ;  he  jes'  ca'less.  Sometimes  he  stays 
at  home,  but  right  sma't  o'  de  time  he  stays 
down  at  "  —  she  looked  at  her  husband  and 
hesitated  —  "  at  de  colo'ed  s'loon.  We  don't 
lak  dat.  It  ain't  no  fitten  place  fu'  him.  But 
'Lias  ain't  bad,  he  jes'  ca'less,  an'  me  an'  de 
ol'  man  we  'membahs  him  in  ouah  pra'ahs,  an' 
I  jes'  t'ought  I  'd  ax  you  to  'membah  him  too, 
Brothah  Dokesbury." 

The  minister  felt  the  old  woman's  pleading 
look  and  the  husband's  intense  gaze  upon  his 
face,  and  suddenly  there  came  to  him  an  inti 
mate  sympathy  in  their  trouble  and  with  it  an 
unexpected  strength. 

"  There  is  no  better  time  than  now,"  he  said, 
"  to  take  his  case  to  the  Almighty  Power ;  let 
us  pray." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  same  prayer  he  had  prayed 
many  times  before  ;  perhaps  the  words  of  sup 
plication  and  the  plea  for  light  and  guidance 
40 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

were  the  same ;  but  somehow  to  the  young  man 
kneeling  there  amid  those  humble  surroundings, 
with  the  sorrow  of  these  poor  ignorant  people 
weighing  upon  his  heart,  it  seemed  very  differ 
ent.  It  came  more  fervently  from  his  lips,  and 
the  words  had  a  deeper  meaning.  When  he 
arose,  there  was  a  warmth  at  his  heart  just  the 
like  of  which  he  had  never  before  experienced. 

Aunt  Caroline  blundered  up  from  her  knees, 
saying,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes,  "  Blessed  is  dey 
dat  mou'n,  fu'  dey  shall  be  comfo'ted."  The 
old  man,  as  he  turned  to  go  to  bed,  shook  the 
young  man's  hand  warmly  and  in  silence;  but 
there  was  a  moisture  in  the  old  eyes  that  told 
the  minister  that  his  plummet  of  prayer  had 
sounded  the  depths. 

Alone  in  his  own  room  Howard  Dokesbury 
sat  down  to  study  the  situation  in  which  he  had 
been  placed.  Had  his  thorough  college  training 
anticipated  specifically  any  such  circumstance  as 
this  ?  After  all,  did  he  know  his  own  people  ? 
Was  it  possible  that  they  could  be  so  different 
from  what  he  had  seen  and  known  ?  He  had 
always  been  such  a  loyal  Negro,  so  proud  of  his 
honest  brown ;  but  had  he  been  mistaken  ? 
Was  he,  after  all,  different  from  the  majority 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

of  the  people  with  whom  he  was  supposed  to 
have  all  thoughts,  feelings,  and  emotions  in 
common  ? 

These  and  other  questions  he  asked  himself 
without  being  able  to  arrive  at  any  satisfactory 
conclusion.  He  did  not  go  to  sleep  soon  after 
retiring,  and  the  night  brought  many  thoughts. 
The  next  day  would  be  Saturday.  The  ordeal 
•had  already  begun, —  now  there  were  twenty- 
four  hours  between  him  and  the  supreme  trial. 
What  would  be  its  outcome  ?  There  were  mo 
ments  when  he  felt,  as  every  man,  howsoever 
brave,  must  feel  at  times,  that  he  would  like  to 
shift  all  his  responsibilities  and  go  away  from 
the  place  that  seemed  destined  to  tax  his  powers 
beyond  their  capability  of  endurance.  What 
could  he  do  for  the  inhabitants  of  Mt.  Hope  ? 
What  was  required  of  him  to  do  ?  Ever 
through  his  mind  ran  that  world-old  question: 
"Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  ?  "  He  had  never 
asked,  "  Are  these  people  my  brothers  ? " 

He  was  up  early  the  next  morning,  and  as 
soon  as  breakfast  was  done,  he  sat  down  to  add 
a  few  touches  to  the  sermon  he  had  prepared  as 
his  introduction.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that 
he  had  retouched  it  and  polished  it  up  here  and 
42 


THE   ORDEAL   AT   MT.   HOPE 

there.  Indeed,  he  had  taken  some  pride  in  it. 
But  as  he  read  it  over  that  day,  it  did  not  sound 
to  him  as  it  had  sounded  before.  It  appeared 
flat  and  without  substance.  After  a  while  he 
laid  it  aside,  telling  himself  that  he  was  nervous 
and  it  was  on  this  account  that  he  could  not  see 
matters  as  he  did  in  his  calmer  moments.  He 
told  himself,  too,  that  he  must  not  again  take 
up  the  offending  discourse  until  time  to  use  it, 
lest  the  discovery  of  more  imaginary  flaws  should 
so  weaken  his  confidence  that  he  would  not  be 
able  to  deliver  it  with  effect. 

In  order  better  to  keep  his  resolve,  he  put  on 
his  hat  and  went  out  for  a  walk  through  the 
streets  of  Mt.  Hope.  He  did  not  find  an  en 
couraging  prospect  as  he  went  along.  The 
Negroes  whom  he  met  viewed  him  with  ill- 
favour,  and  the  whites  who  passed  looked  on 
him  with  unconcealed  distrust  and  contempt. 
He  began  to  feel  lost,  alone,  and  helpless.  The 
squalor  and  shiftlessness  which  were  plainly  in 
evidence  about  the  houses  which  he  saw  filled 
him  with  disgust  and  a  dreary  hopelessness. 

He  passed  vacant  lots  which  lay  open  and 
inviting  children  to  healthful  play  ;  but  instead 
of  marbles  or  leap-frog  or  ball,  he  found  little 
43 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

boys  in  ragged  knickerbockers  huddled  together 
on  the  ground,  "  shooting  craps"  with  preco 
cious  avidity  and  quarrelling  over  the  pennies 
that  made  the  pitiful  wagers.  He  heard  glib 
profanity  rolling  from  the  lips  of  children  who 
should  have  been  stumbling  through  baby  cate 
chisms  ;  and  his  heart  ached  for  them. 

He  would  have  turned  and  gone  back  to  his 
room,  but  the  sound  of  shouts,  laughter,  and 
the  turn-turn  of  a  musical  instrument  drew  him 
on  down  the  street.  At  the  turn  of  a  corner, 
the  place  from  which  the  noise  emanated  met 
his  eyes.  It  was  a  rude  frame  building,  low  and 
unpainted.  The  panes  in  its  windows  whose 
places  had  not  been  supplied  by  sheets  of  tin 
were  daubed  a  dingy  red.  Numerous  kegs  and 
bottles  on  the  outside  attested  the  nature  of  the 
place.  The  front  door  was  open,  but  the  inte 
rior  was  concealed  by  a  gaudy  curtain  stretched 
across  the  entrance  within.  Over  the  door 
was  the  inscription,  in  straggling  characters, 
"Sander's  Place;"  and  when  he  saw  half-a- 
dozen  Negroes  enter,  the  minister  knew  instantly 
that  he  now  beheld  the  colored  saloon  which 
was  the  frequenting-place  of  his  hostess's  son 
'Lias;  and  he  wondered,  if,  as  the  mother  said, 
44 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

her  boy  was  not  bad,  how  anything  good  could 
be  preserved  in  such  a  place  of  evil. 

The  cries  and  boisterous  laughter  mingled 
with  the  strumming  of  the  banjo  and  the  shuf 
fling  of  feet  told  him  that  they  were  engaged  in 
one  of  their  rude  hoe-down  dances.  He  had 
not  passed  a  dozen  paces  beyond  the  door  when 
the  music  was  suddenly  stopped,  the  sound  of  a 
quick  blow  followed,  then  ensued  a  scuffle,  and 
a  young  fellow  half  ran,  half  fell  through  the 
open  door.  He  was  closely  followed  by  a 
heavily  built  ruffian  who  was  striking  him  as  he 
ran.  The  young  fellow  was  very  much  the 
weaker  and  slighter  of  the  two,  and  was  suffer 
ing  great  punishment.  In  an  instant  all  the 
preacher's  sense  of  justice  was  stung  into  sudden 
life.  Tust  as  the  brute  was  about  to  give  his 

+J  o 

victim  a  blow  that  would  have  sent  him  into 
the  gutter,  he  felt  his  arm  grasped  in  a  detain 
ing  hold  and  heard  a  commanding  voice,  — 
"  Stop  !  " 

He  turned  with  increased  fury  upon  this 
meddler,  but  his  other  wrist  was  caught  and  held 
in  a  vice-like  grip.  For  a  moment  the  two  men 
looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  Hot  words  rose 
to  the  young  man's  lips,  but  he  choked  them 
45 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

back.  Until  this  moment  he  had  deplored  th 
possession  of  a  spirit  so  easily  fired  that  it  ha> 
been  a  test  of  his  manhood  to  keep  from  "  slug 
ging  "  on  the  football  field  ;  now  he  was  glad  oi 
it.  He  did  not  attempt  to  strike  the  man,  bu 
stood  holding  his  arms  and  meeting  the  bruti 
glare  with  manly  flashing  eyes.  Either  th< 
natural  cowardice  of  the  bully  or  something  ir 
his  new  opponent's  face  had  quelled  the  big  fel 
low's  spirit,  and  he  said  doggedly  :  "  Lemme  go. 
I  was  n't  a-go'n'  to  kill  him  nohow,  but  ef  1 
ketch  him  dancin'  with  my  gal  anymo',  I  '11  — ' 
He  cast  a  glance  full  of  malice  at  his  victim,  whc 
stood  on  the  pavement  a  few  feet  away,  as  much 
amazed  as  the  dumfounded  crowd  which  throngec 
the  door  of  "  Sander's  Place."  Loosing  hi< 
hold,  the  preacher  turned,  and,  putting  his  hand 
on  the  young  fellow's  shoulder,  led  him  away. 

For  a  time  they  walked  on  in  silence.  Dokes- 
bury  had  to  calm  the  tempest  in  his  breast 
before  he  could  trust  his  voice.  After  a  while  he 
said  :  "  That  fellow  was  making  it  pretty  hot  for 
you,  my  young  friend.  What  had  you  done  to 
him?" 

"  Nothin',"  replied  the  other.  "  I  was  jes' 
dancin'  'long  an'  not  thinkin'  'bout  him,  when 
46 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

all  of  a  sudden  he  hollered  dat  I  had  his  gal  an5 
commenced  hittin'  me." 

"  He  's  a  bully  and  a  coward,  or  he  would  not 
have  made  use  of  his  superior  strength  in  that 
way.  What 's  your  name,  friend  ?  " 

"  'Lias  Gray,"  was  the  answer,  which  startled 
the  minister  into  exclaiming, — 

"  What !  are  you  Aunt  Caroline's  son  ?  " 

"  Yes,  suh,  I  sho  is ;  does  you  know  my 
mothah  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  'm  stopping  with  her,  and  we  were 
talking  about  you  last  night.  My  name  is 
Dokesbury,  and  I  am  to  take  charge  of  the 
church  here." 

"  I  thought  mebbe  you  was  a  preachah,  but  I 
could  n't  scarcely  believe  it  after  I  seen  de  way 
you  held  Sam  an'  looked  at  him." 

Dokesbury  laughed,  and  his  merriment  seemed 
to  make  his  companion  feel  better,  for  the  sullen, 
abashed  look  left  his  face,  and  he  laughed  a  little 
himself  as  he  said  :  "  I  was  n't  a-pesterin'  Sam, 
but  I  tell  you  he  pestered  me  mighty." 

Dokesbury  looked  into  the  boy's  face,  —  he 

was  hardly  more  than  a  boy,  —  lit  up  as  it  was 

by  a  smile,  and  concluded  that  Aunt  Caroline  was 

right.     'Lias  might  be  c  ca'less,'  but  he  was  n't 

47 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

a  bad  boy.  The  face  was  too  open  and  the 
eyes  too  honest  for  that.  'Lias  was  n't  bad  ;  but 
environment  does  so  much,  and  he  would  be  if 
something  were  not  done  for  him.  Here,  then, 
was  work  for  a  pastor's  hands. 

"  You  '11  walk  on  home  with  me,  'Lias,  won't 
you  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  I  mout  ez  well,"  replied  the  boy. 
"  I  don't  stay  erroun'  home  ez  much  ez  I 
oughter." 

"  You  '11  be  around  more,  of  course,  now 
that  I  am  there.  It  will  be  so  much  less  lone 
some  for  two  young  people  than  for  one.  Then, 
you  can  be  a  great  help  to  me,  too." 

The  preacher  did  not  look  down  to  see  how 
wide  his  listener's  eyes  grew  as  he  answered : 
"  Oh,  I  ain't  fittin'  to  be  no  he'p  to  you,  suh. 
Fust  thing,  I  ain't  nevah  got  religion,  an'  then  I 
ain't  well  larned  enough." 

"  Oh,  there  are  a  thousand  other  ways  in  which 
you  can  help,  and  I  feel  sure  that  you  will." 

"  Of  co'se,  I  '11  do  de  ve'y  bes'  I  kin." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  want  you  to  do  soon, 
as  a  favour  to  me." 

"  I  can't  go   to  de   mou'nah's  bench,"  cried 
the  boy,  in  consternation. 
48 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

"  And  I  don't  want  you  to,"  was  the  calm 
reply. 

Another  look  of  wide-eyed  astonishment  took 
in  the  preacher's  face.  These  were  strange 
words  from  one  of  his  guild.  But  without 
noticing  the  surprise  he  had  created,  Dokesbury 
went  on  :  "  What  I  want  is  that  you  will  take 
me  fishing  as  soon  as  you  can.  I  never  get 
tired  of  fishing  and  I  am  anxious  to  go  here. 
Tom  Scott  says  you  fish  a  great  deal  about 
here." 

"  Why,  we  kin  go  dis  ve'y  afternoon,"  ex 
claimed  'Lias,  in  relief  and  delight ;  "  I 's  mighty 
fond  o'  fishin',  myse'f." 

"  All  right;  I  'm  in  your  hands  from  now  on." 

'Lias  drew  his  shoulders  up,  with  an  uncon 
scious  motion.  The  preacher  saw  it,  and  men 
tally  rejoiced.  He  felt  that  the  first  thing  the 
boy  beside  him  needed  was  a  consciousness  of 
responsibility,  and  the  lifted  shoulders  meant  prog 
ress  in  that  direction,  a  sort  of  physical  straight 
ening  up  to  correspond  with  the  moral  one. 

On  seeing  her  son  walk  in  with  the  minister, 
Aunt  'Ca'line's'  delight  was  boundless.  "La! 
Brothah  Dokesbury,"  she  exclaimed,  "  wha  'd 
you  fin'  dat  scamp  ? "  „ 

4  49 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

"  Oh,  down  the  street  here,"  the  young  man 
replied  lightly.  "  I  got  hold  of  his  name  and 
made  myself  acquainted,  so  he  came  home  to 
go  fishing  with  me." 

"  'Lias  is  pow'ful  fon'  o'  fishin',  hisse'f.  I 
'low  he  kin  show  you  some  mighty  good  places. 
Cain't  you,  'Lias  ?  " 

"  I  reckon." 

'Lias  was  thinking.  He  was  distinctly  grate 
ful  that  the  circumstances  of  his  meeting  with 
the  minister  had  been  so  deftly  passed  over.  But 
with  a  half  idea  of  the  superior  moral  reponsi- 
bility  under  which  a  man  in  Dokesbury's  posi 
tion  laboured,  he  wondered  vaguely  —  to  put  it 
in  his  own  thought-words  —  "ef  de  preachah 
had  n't  put'  nigh  lied."  However,  he  was  will 
ing  to  forgive  this  little  lapse  of  veracity,  if  such 
it  was,  out  of  consideration  for  the  anxiety  it 
spared  his  mother. 

When  Stephen  Gray  came  in  to  dinner,  he 
was  no  less  pleased  than  his  wife  to  note  the 
terms  of  friendship  on  which  the  minister  re 
ceived  his  son.  On  his  face  was  the  first  smile 
that  Dokesbury  had  seen  there,  and  he  awakened 
from  his  taciturnity  and  proffered  much  infor 
mation  as  to  the  fishing-places  thereabout.  The 
5° 


THE    ORDEAL    AT   MT.    HOPE 

young  minister  accounted  this  a  distinct  gain. 
Anything  more  than  a  frowning  silence  from 
the  "  little  yaller  man  "  was  gain. 

The  fishing  that  afternoon  was  particularly 
good.  Catfish,  chubs,  and  suckers  were  landed 
in  numbers  sufficient  to  please  the  heart  of  any 
amateur  angler. 

'Lias  was  happy,  and  the  minister  was  in  the 
best  of  spirits,  for  his  charge  seemed  promising. 
He  looked  on  at  the  boy's  jovial  face,  and  laughed 
within  himself;  for,  mused  he,  "it  is  so  much 
harder  for  the  devil  to  get  into  a  cheerful  heart 
than  into  a  sullen,  gloomy  one."  By  the  time 
they  were  ready  to  go  home  Harold  Dokesbury 
had  received  a  promise  from  'Lias  to  attend 
service  the  next  morning  and  hear  the  sermon. 

There  was  a  great  jollification  over  the  fish 
supper  that  night,  and  'Lias  and  the  minister 
were  the  heroes  of  the  occasion.  The  old  man 
again  broke  his. silence,  and  recounted,  with  in 
finite  dryness,  ancient  tales  of  his  prowess  with 
rod  and  line ;  while  Aunt  c  Ca'line '  told  of  fa 
mous  fish  suppers  that  in  the  bygone  days  she  had 
cooked  for  "  de  white  folks."  In  the  midst  of 
it  all,  however,  'Lias  disappeared.  No  one  had 
noticed  when  he  slipped  out,  but  all  seemed  to 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

become  conscious  of  his  absence  about  the  same 
time.  The  talk  shifted,  and  finally  simmered 
into  silence. 

When  the  Rev.  Mr.  Dokesbury  went  to  bed 
that  night,  his  charge  had  not  yet  returned. 

The  young  minister  woke  early  on  the  Sab 
bath  morning,  and  he  may  be  forgiven  that  the 
prospect  of  the  ordeal  through  which  he  had  to 
pass  drove  his  care  for  'Lias  out  of  mind  for  the 
first  few  hours.  But  as  he  walked  to  church, 
flanked  on  one  side  by  Aunt  Caroline  in  the 
stiffest  of  ginghams  and  on  the  other  by  her 
husband  stately  in  the  magnificence  of  an  anti 
quated  "Jim-swinger,"  his  mind  went  back  to 
the  boy  with  sorrow.  Where  was  he  ?  What 
was  he  doing  ?  Had  the  fear  of  a  dull  church 
service  frightened  him  back  to  his  old  habits  and 
haunts  ?  There  was  a  new  sadness  at  the 
preacher's  heart  as  he  threaded  his  way  down 
the  crowded  church  and  ascended  the  rude 
pulpit. 

The  church  was  stiflingly  hot,  and  the  morn 
ing  sun  still  beat  relentlessly  in  through  the 
plain  windows.  The  seats  were  rude  wooden 
benches,  in  some  instances  without  backs.  To 
the  right,  filling  the  inner  corner,  sat  the  pillars 
52 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

of  the  church,  stern,  grim,  and  critical.  Opposite 
them,  and,  like  them,  in  seats  at  right  angles  to 
the  main  body,  sat  the  older  sisters,  some  of 
them  dressed  with  good  old-fashioned  simplicity, 
while  others  yielding  to  newer  tendencies  were 
gotten  up  in  gaudy  attempts  at  finery.  In  the 
rear  seats  a  dozen  or  so  much  beribboned 
mulatto  girls  tittered  and  giggled,  and  cast  bold 
glances  at  the  minister. 

The  young  man  sighed  as  he  placed  the  manu 
script  of  his  sermon  between  the  leaves  of  the 
tattered  Bible.  "  And  this  is  Mt.  Hope,"  he 
was  again  saying  to  himself. 

It  was  after  the  prayer  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  second  hymn  that  a  more  pronounced 
titter  from  the  back  seats  drew  his  attention. 
He  raised  his  head  to  cast  a  reproving  glance  at 
the  irreverent,  but  the  sight  that  met  his  eyes 
turned  that  look  into  one  of  horror.  'Lias  had 
just  entered  the  church,  and  with  every  mark  of 
beastly  intoxication  was  staggering  up  the  aisle 
to  a  seat,  into  which  he  tumbled  in  a  drunken 
heap.  The  preacher's  soul  turned  sick  within 
him,  and  his  eyes  sought  the  face  of  the  mother 
and  father.  The  old  woman  was  wiping  her 
eyes,  and  the  old  man  sat  with  his  gaze  bent 
53 


FOLK   FROM    DIXIE 

upon  the   floor,  lines  of  sorrow  drawn  about  his 
wrinkled  mouth. 

All  of  a  sudden  a  great  revulsion  of  feeling 
came  over  Dokesbury.  Trembling  he  rose  and 
opened  the  Bible.  There  lay  his  sermon,  pol 
ished  and  perfected.  The  opening  lines  seemed 
to  him  like  glints  from  a  bright  cold  crystal. 
What  had  he  to  say  to  these  people,  when  the 
full  realisation  of  human  sorrow  and  care  and 
of  human  degradation  had  just  come  to  him  ? 
What  had  they  to  do  with  firstlies  and  secondlies, 
with  premises  and  conclusions  ?  What  they 
wanted  was  a  strong  hand  to  help  them  over 
the  hard  places  of  life  and  a  loud  voice  to  cheer 
them  through  the  dark.  He  closed  the  book 
again  upon  his  precious  sermon.  A  something 
new  had  been  born  in  his  heart.  He  let  his 
gknce  rest  for  another  instant  on  the  mother's 
pained  face  and  the  father's  bowed  form,  and 
then  turning  to  the  congregation  began,  "  Come 
unto  me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy  laden, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest.  Take  my  yoke  upon 
you,  and  learn  of  me  :  for  I  am  meek  and  lowly 
in  heart :  and  ye  shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls." 
Out  of  the  fulness  of  his  heart  he  spoke  unto 
them.  Their  great  need  informed  his  utterance. 
54 


THE    ORDEAL    AT    MT.    HOPE 

He  forgot  his  carefully  turned  sentences  and 
perfectly  rounded  periods.  He  forgot  all  save 
that  here  was  the  well-being  of  a  community 
put  into  his  hands  whose  real  condition  he  had 
not  even  suspected  until  now.  The  situation 
wrought  him  up.  His  words  went  forth  like 
winged  fire,  and  the  emotional  people  were 
moved  beyond  control.  They  shouted,  and 
clapped  their  hands,  and  praised  the  Lord  loudly. 

When  the  service  was  over,  there  was  much 
gathering  about  the  young  preacher,  and  hand 
shaking.  Through  all  'Lias  had  slept.  His 
mother  started  toward  him ;  but  the  minister 
managed  to  whisper  to  her,  "  Leave  him  to  me." 
When  the  congregation  had  passed  out,  Dokes- 
bury  shook  'Lias.  The  boy  woke,  partially 
sobered,  and  his  face  fell  before  the  preacher's 
eyes. 

"  Come,  my  boy,  let 's  go  home."  Arm  in 
arm  they  went  out  into  the  street,  where  a 
number  of  scoffers  had  gathered  to  have  a  laugh 
at  the  abashed  boy ;  but  Harold  Dokesbury's 
strong  arm  steadied  his  steps,  and  something  in 
his  face  checked  the  crowd's  hilarity.  Silently 
they  cleared  the  way,  and  the  two  passed  among 
them  and  went  home. 

55 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

The  minister  saw  clearly  the  things  which 
he  had  to  combat  in  his  community,  and  through 
this  one  victim  he  determined  to  fight  the  gen 
eral  evil.  The  people  with  whom  he  had  to 
deal  were  children  who  must  be  led  by  the 
hand.  The  boy  lying  in  drunken  sleep  upon 
his  bed  was  no  worse  than  the  rest  of  them. 
He  was  an  epitome  of  the  evil,  as  his  parents 
were  of  the  sorrows,  of  the  place. 

He  could  not  talk  to  Elias.  He  could  not 
lecture  him.  He  would  only  be  dashing  his 
words  against  the  accumulated  evil  of  years  of 
bondage  as  the  ripples  of  a  summer  sea  beat 
against  a  stone  wall.  It  was  not  the  wickedness 
of  this  boy  he  was  fighting  or  even  the  wrong 
doing  of  Mt.  Hope.  It  was  the  aggregation 
of  the  evils  of  the  fathers,  the  grandfathers,  the 
masters  and  mistresses  of  these  people.  Against 
this  what  could  talk  avail  ? 

The  boy  slept  on,  and  the  afternoon  passed 
heavily  away.  Aunt  Caroline  was  finding  sol 
ace  in  her  pipe,  and  Stephen  Gray  sulked  in 
moody  silence  beside  the  hearth.  Neither  of 
them  joined  their  guest  at  evening  service. 

He    went,   however.      It    was    hard    to    face 
those  people  again  after  the  events  of  the  morn- 
56 


'AUNT    CALINE    WAS    FINDING    SOLACE    IN    THE    PIPE-' 


THE    ORDEAL   AT    MT.    HOPE 

ing.  He  could  feel  them  covertly  nudging  each 
other  and  grinning  as  he  went  up  to  the  pulpit. 
He  chided  himself  for  the  momentary  annoy 
ance  it  caused  him.  Were  they  not  like  so 
many  naughty,  irresponsible  children  ? 

The  service  passed  without  unpleasantness, 
save  that  he  went  home  with  an  annoyingly 
vivid  impression  of  a  yellow  girl  with  red  rib 
bons  on  her  hat,  who  pretended  to  be  impressed 
by  his  sermon  and  made  eyes  at  him  from 
behind  her  handkerchief. 

On  the  way  to  his  room  that  night,  as  he 
passed  Stephen  Gray,  the  old  man  whispered 
huskily,  "  It 's  de  fus'  time  'Lias  evah  done 
dat." 

It  was  the  only  word  he  had  spoken  since 
morning. 

A  sound  sleep  refreshed  Dokesbury,  and  re 
stored  the  tone  to  his  overtaxed  nerves.  When 
he  came  out  in  the  morning,  Elias  was  already 
in  the  kitchen.  He  too  had  slept  off  his  indis 
position,  but  it  had  been  succeeded  by  a  painful 
embarrassment  that  proved  an  effectual  barrier 
to  all  intercourse  with  him.  The  minister 
talked  lightly  and  amusingly,  but  the  boy  never 
raised  his  eyes  from  his  plate,  and  only  spoke 
57 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

when  he  was  compelled  to  answer  some  direct 
questions. 

Harold  Dokesbury  knew  that  unless  he  could 
overcome  this  reserve,  his  power  over  the  youth 
was  gone.  He  bent  every  effort  to  do  it. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  a  turn  down  the  street 
with  me  ?  "  he  asked  as  he  rose  from  breakfast. 

'Lias  shook  his  head. 

"What!  You  haven't  deserted  me  already?" 

The  older  people  had  gone  out,  but  young 
Gray  looked  furtively  about  before  he  replied  : 
"  You  know  I  ain't  fittin'  to  go  out  with  you  — 
aftah  — aftah  —  yestiddy." 

A  dozen  appropriate  texts  rose  in  the 
preacher's  mind,  but  he  knew  that  it  was  not 
a  preaching  time,  so  he  contented  himself  with 
saying, — 

"  Oh,  get  out  !     Come  along  !  " 

"No,  I  cain't.  I  cain't.  I  wisht  I  could! 
You  need  n't  think  I 's  ashamed,  'cause  I  ain't. 
Plenty  of  'em  git  drunk,  an'  I  don't  keer  nothin' 
'bout  dat  "  —  this  in  a  defiant  tone. 

"  Well,  why  not  come  along,  then  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  cain't.  Don't  ax  me  no  mo'. 
It  ain't  on  my  account  I  won't  go.  It 's  you." 

"  Me  !     Why,  I  want  you  to  go." 
58 


THE   ORDEAL   AT   MT.   HOPE 

"  I  know  you  does,  but  I  must  n't.  Cain't 
you  see  that  cley  'd  be  glad  to  say  dat  —  dat  you 
was  in  cahoots  wif  me  an'  you  tuk  yo'  drain 
on  de  sly  ? '"' 

"  I  don't  care  what  they  say  so  long  as  it  is  n't 
true.  Are  you  coming  ?  " 

"  No,  I  ain't." 

He  was  perfectly  determined,  and  Dokesbury 
saw  that  there  was  no  use  arguing  with  him. 
So  with  a  resigned  "  All  right !  "  he  strode  out  the 
gate  and  up  the  street,  thinking  of  the  problem 
he  had  to  solve. 

There  was  good  in  Elias  Gray,  he  knew.  It 
was  a  shame  that  it  should  be  lost.  It  would 
be  lost  unless  he  were  drawn  strongly  away  from 
the  paths  he  was  treading.  But  how  could  it 
be  done  ?  Was  there  no  point  in  his  mind  that 
could  be  reached  by  what  was  other  than  evil  ? 
That  was  the  thing  to  be  found  out.  Then  he 
paused  to  ask  himself  if,  after  all,  he  were  not 
trying  to  do  too  much,  —  trying,  in  fact,  to  play 
Providence  to  Elias.  He  found  himself  in 
voluntarily  wanting  to  shift  the  responsibility  of 
planning  for  the  youth.  He  wished  that  some 
thing  entirely  independent  of  his  intentions 
would  happen. 

59 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

Just  then  something  did  happen.  A  piece 
of  soft  mud  hurled  from  some  unknown  source 
caught  the  minister  square  in  the  chest,  and 
spattered  over  his  clothes.  He  raised  his  eyes 
and  glanced  about  quickly,  but  no  one  was  in 
sight.  Whoever  the  foe  was,  he  was  securely 
ambushed. 

"  Thrown  by  the  hand  of  a  man,"  mused 
Dokesbury,  "  prompted  by  the  malice  of  a 
child." 

He  went  on  his  way,  finished  his  business, 
and  returned  to  the  house. 

"  La,  Brothah  Dokesbury  ! "  exclaimed  Aunt 
Caroline,  "  what 's  de  mattah  'f  yo'  shu't 
bosom  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  where  one  of  our  good  citizens 
left  his  card." 

"  You  don'  mean  to  say  none  o'  dem  low-life 
scoun'els  —  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  did  it.  He  took  particu 
lar  pains  to  keep  out  of  sight." 

"  'Lias  !  "  the  old  woman  cried,  turning  on 
her  son,  "  wha'  'd  you  let  Brothah  Dokesbury  go 
off  by  hisse'f  fu'  ?  Why  n't  you  go  'long  an' 
tek  keer  o'  him  ?  " 

The  old  lady  stopped  even  in  the  midst  of 
60 


THE   ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

her  tirade,  as  her  eyes  took  in  the  expression  on 
her  son's  face. 

"I  '11  kill  some  o'  dem  damn—" 

"  'Lias  !  " 

"  'Scuse  me,  Mistah  Dokesbury,  but  I  feel 
lak  I  '11  bus'  ef  I  don't  'spress  myse'f.  It 
makes  me  so  mad.  Don't  you  go  out  o'  hyeah 
no  mo'  'dout  me.  I  '11  go  'long  an'  I  '11  brek 
somebody's  haid  wif  a  stone." 

"  'Lias !  how  you  talkin'  fo'  de  ministah  ?  " 

"  Well,  dat's  whut  I  '11  do,  'cause  I  kin  out- 
th'ow  any  of  'em  an'  I  know  dey  hidin'- 
places." 

"  I  '11  be  glad  to  accept  your  protection," 
said  Dokesbury. 

He  saw  his  advantage,  and  was  thankful  for 
the  mud,  —  the  one  thing  that  without  an  effort 
restored  the  easy  relations  between  himself  and 
his  protege. 

Ostensibly  these  relations  were  reversed,  and 
Ellas  went  out  with  the  preacher  as  a  guardian 
and  protector.  But  the  minister  was  laying  his 
nets.  It  was  on  one  of  these  rambles  that  he 
broached  to  'Lias  a  subject  which  he  had  been 
considering  for  some  time. 

"  Look  here,  'Lias,"  he  said,  "  what  are 
61 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

you    going    to  do  with  that   big    back  yard  of 
yours  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothin'.  'T  ain't  no  'count  to  raise 
nothin'  in." 

"  It  may  not  be  fit  for  vegetables,  but  it  will 
raise  something." 

«  What  ?  " 

"  Chickens.     That 's  what." 

Elias  laughed  sympathetically. 

u  I  'd  lak  to  eat  de  chickens  I  raise.  I 
would  n't  want  to  be  feedin'  de  neighbour 
hood." 

"  Plenty  of  boards,  slats,  wire,  and  a  good 
lock  and  key  would  fix  that  all  right." 

"  Yes,  but  whah  'm  I  gwine  to  git  all  dem 
things  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  '11  go  in  with  you  and  furnish  the 
money,  and  help  you  build  the  coops.  Then 
you  can  sell  chickens  and  eggs,  and  we  '11  go 
halves  on  the  profits." 

"  Hush,  man  !  "  cried  'Lias,  in  delight. 

So  the  matter  was  settled,  and,  as  Aunt 
Caroline  expressed  it,  "  Fu'  a  week  er  sich  a 
mattah,  you  nevah  did  see  sich  ta'in'  down  an* 
buildin'  up  in  all  yo'  bo'n  days." 

'Lias  went  at  the  work  with  zest,  and  Dokes- 
62 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.   HOPE 

bury  noticed  his  skill  with  tools.  He  let  fall  the 
remark :  "  Say,  'Lias,  there  's  a  school  near  here 
where  they  teach  carpentering ;  why  don't 
you  go  and  learn  ?  " 

"  What  I  gwine  to  do  with  bein'  a 
cyahp  enter  ?  " 

"  Repair  some  of  these  houses  around  Mt. 
Hope,  if  nothing  more,"  Dokesbury  responded, 
laughing ;  and  there  the  matter  rested. 

The  work  prospered,  and  as  the  weeks  went 
on,  'Lias'  enterprise  became  the  town's  talk. 
One  of  Aunt  Caroline's  patrons  who  had  come 
with  some  orders  about  work  regarded  the 
changed  condition  of  affairs,  and  said,  "Why, 
Aunt  Caroline,  this  does  n't  look  like  the  same 
place.  I  '11  have  to  buy  some  eggs  from  you ; 
you  keep  your  yard  and  hen-house  so  nice,  it 's 
an  advertisement  for  the  eggs." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  nothin'  'bout  dat  ya'd, 
Miss  Lucy,"  Aunt  Caroline  had  retorted. 
"  Dat  'long  to  'Lias  an'  de  preachah.  Hit 
dey  doin's.  Dey  done  mos'  nigh  drove  me  out 
wif  dey  cleanness.  I  ain't  nevah  seed  no  sich 
ca'in'  on  in  my  life  befo'.  Why,  my  'Lias 
done  got  right  brigity  an'  talk  about  bein' 
somep'n'." 

63 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

Dokesbury  had  retired  from  his  partnership 
with  the  boy  save  in  so  far  as  he  acted  as  a 
general  supervisor.  His  share  had  been  sold 
to  a  friend  of  'Lias,  Jim  Hughes.  The  two 
seemed  to  have  no  other  thought  save  of  raising, 
tending,  and  selling  chickens. 

Mt.  Hope  looked  on  and  ceased  to  scoff. 
Money  is  a  great  dignifier,  and  Jim  and  'Lias 
were  making  money.  There  had  been  some 
sniffs  when  the  latter  had  hinged  the  front  gate 
and  whitewashed  his  mother's  cabin,  but  even 
that  had  been  accepted  now  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

Dokesbury  had  done  his  work.  He,  too, 
looked  on,  and  in  some  satisfaction. 

"  Let  the  leaven  work,"  he  said,  "  and  all 
Mt.  Hope  must  rise." 

It  was  one  day,  nearly  a  year  later,  that  "  old 
lady  Hughes  "  dropped  in  on  Aunt  Caroline  for 
a  chat. 

u  Well,  I  do  say,  Sis'  Ca'line,  dem  two  boys 
o'  ourn  done  sot  dis  town  on  fiah." 

"  What  now,  Sis'  Lizy  ?  " 

"Why,  evah  sence  'Lias  tuk  it  into  his 
haid  to  be  a  cyahpenter  an'  Jim  'cided  to  go 
'long  an'  lu'n  to  be  a  blacksmif,  some  o'  dese 
64 


THE    ORDEAL   AT   MT.    HOPE 

hyeah  othah  young  people's  been  tryin'  to  do 
somep'n'." 

"  All  (Jey  wanted  was  a  staht." 

"  Well,  now  will  you  b'lieve  me,  dat  no-'count 
Tom  Johnson  done  opened  a  fish  sto',  an'  he 
has  de  boys  an'  men  bring  him  dey  fish  all  de 
time.  He  give  'em  a  little  somep'n'  fu'  dey 
ketch,  den  he  go  sell  'em  to  de  white  folks." 

"  Lawd,  how  long  !  " 

"  An'  what  you  think  he  say  ?  " 

"  I  do'  know,  sis'." 

"  He  say  ez  soon  'z  he  git  money  enough,  he 
gwine  to  dat  school  whah  'Lias  an'  Jim  gone 
an'  lu'n  to  fahm  scientific." 

"Bless  de  Lawd!  Well,  'urn,  I  don'  put 
nothin'  pas'  de  young  folks  now." 

Mt.  Hope  had  at  last  awakened.  Something 
had  come  to  her  to  which  she  might  aspire, — 
something  that  she  could  understand  and  reach. 
She  was  not  soaring,  but  she  was  rising  above 
the  degradation  in  which  Harold  Dokesbury  had 
.  found  her.  And  for  her  and  him  the  ordeal  had 
passed. 


THE   COLONEL'S 
AWAKENING 


THE    COLONEL'S   AWAKENING 

IT  was  the  morning  before  Christmas.  The 
cold  winter  sunlight  fell  brightly  through  the 
window  into  a  small  room  where  an  old  man 
was  sitting.  The  room,  now  bare  and  cheer 
less,  still  retained  evidences  of  having  once  been 
the  abode  of  refinement  and  luxury.  It  was 
the  one  open  chamber  of  many  in  a  great 
rambling  old  Virginia  house,  which  in  its  time 
had  been  one  of  the  proudest  in  the  county. 
But  it  had  been  in  the  path  of  the  hurricane  of 
war,  and  had  been  shorn  of  its  glory  as  a  tree  is 
stripped  of  its  foliage.  Now,  like  the  bare  tree, 
dismantled,  it  remained,  and  this  one  old  man, 
with  the  aristocratic  face,  clung  to  it  like  the 
last  leaf. 

He  did  not  turn  his  head  when  an  ancient 
serving-man  came  in  and  began  laying  the  things 
for  breakfast.  After  a  while  the  servant  spoke : 
"  I  got  a  monst'ous  fine  breakfus'  fu'  you  dis 
mo'nin',  Mas'  Estridge.  I  got  fresh  aigs,  an' 
69 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

beat  biscuits,  an  Lize  done  fried  you  a  young 
chicken  dat  '11  sholy  mek  yo'  mouf  worter." 

"  Thank  you,  Ike,  thank  you,"  was  the  dig 
nified  response.  "  Lize  is  a  likely  girl,  and  she  's 
improving  in  her  cooking  greatly." 

"  Yes,  Mas'  Estridge,  she  sho  is  a  mighty 
fine  ooman." 

"  And  you  're  not  a  bad  servant  yourself, 
Ike,"  the  old  man  went  on,  with  an  air  of 
youthful  playfulness  that  ill  accorded  with  his 
aged  face.  "  I  expect  some  day  you  '11  be 
coming  around  asking  me  to  let  you  marry  Lize, 
eh  !  What  have  you  got  to  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  dat's  right,  mastah,  I  reckon  dat 's 
mighty  nigh  right." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  about  it  when  the  time 
comes ;  we  shall  see  about  it." 

"  Lawd,  how  long  !  "  mumbled  the  old  ser 
vant  to  himself  as  he  went  on  about  his  work. 
"  Ain't  Mas'  Bob  nevah  gv/ine  to  git  his  al- 
manec  straight  ?  He  been  gvvine  on  dis  way 
fu'  ovah  twenty  yeahs  now.  He  cain't  git  it 
thoo'  his  haid  dat  time  been  a-passin'.  Hyeah 
I  done  been  ma'ied  to  Lize  fu'  lo  dese  many 
yeahs,  an'  we  've  got  ma'ied  chillum,  but  he 
still  think  I 's  a^cou'tin'  huh." 


THE  COLONEL'S  AWAKENING 

To  Colonel  Robert  Estridge  time  had  not 
passed  and  conditions  had  not  changed  for  a 
generation.  He  was  still  the  gallant  aristocrat 
he  had  been  when  the  war  broke  out,  —  a  little 
past  the  age  to  enlist  himself,  but  able  and  glad 
to  give  two  sons  to  the  cause  of  the  South. 
They  had  gone  out,  light-hearted  and  gay,  and 
brave  in  their  military  trappings  and  suits  of 
gray.  The  father  had  watched  them  away 
with  moist  eyes  and  a  swelling  bosom.  After 
that  the  tide  of  war  had  surged  on  and  on,  had 
even  rolled  to  his  very  gates,  and  the  widov/ed 
man  watched  and  waited  for  it  to  bring  his  boys 
back  to  him.  One  of  them  came.  They 
brought  him  back  from  the  valley  of  the  Shen- 
andoah,  and  laid  him  in  the  old  orchard  out 
there  behind  the  house.  Then  all  the  love  of 
the  father  was  concentrated  upon  the  one  re 
maining  son,  and  his  calendar  could  know  but 
one  day  and  that  the  one  on  which  his  Bob,  his 
namesake  and  his  youngest,  should  return  to 
him.  But  one  day  there  came  to  him  the  news 
that  his  boy  had  fallen  in  the  front  of  a  terrific 
fight,  and  in  the  haste  of  retreat  he  had  been 
buried  with  the  unknown  dead.  Into  that 
trench,  among  the  unknown,  Colonel  Robert 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

Estridge  had  laid  his  heart,  and  there  it  had 
stayed.  Time  stopped,  and  his  faculties  wan 
dered.  He  lived  always  in  the  dear  past.  The 
present  and  future  were  not.  He  did  not  even 
know  when  the  fortunes  of  war  brought  an 
opposing  host  to  his  very  doors.  He  was  un 
conscious  of  it  all  when  they  devoured  his  sub 
stance  like  a  plague  of  locusts.  It  was  all  a 
blank  to  him  when  the  old  manor  house  was 
fired  and  he  was  like  to  lose  his  possessions  and 
his  life.  When  his  servants  left  him  he  did 
not  know,  but  sat  and  gave  orders  to  the  one 
faithful  retainer  as  though  he  were  ordering  the 
old  host  of  blacks.  And  so  for  more  than  a 
generation  he  had  lived. 

"  Hope  you  gwine  to  enjoy  yo'  Christmas 
Eve  breakfus',  Mas'  Estridge,"  said  the  old 
servant. 

"  Christmas  Eve,  Christmas  Eve  ?  Yes,  yes, 
so  it  is.  To-morrow  is  Christmas  Day,  and 
I  'm  afraid  I  have  been  rather  sluggish  in  getting 
things  ready  for  the  celebration.  I  reckon  the 
darkies  have  already  begun  to  jubilate  and  to 
shirk  in  consequence,  and  I  won't  be  able  to 
get  a  thing  done  decently  for  a  week." 

"  Don't  you  bother  'bout  none  o'  de  res',  Mas' 
72 


THE   COLONEL'S   AWAKENING 

Estridge  ;  you  kin  'pend  on  me  —  I  ain't  gwine 
to  shu'k  even  ef  't  is  Christmus." 

"  That 's  right,  Ike.  I  can  depend  upon  you. 
You  're  always  faithful.  Just  you  get  things  done 
up  right  for  me,  and  I  '11  give  you  that  broadcloth 
suit  of  mine.  It 's  most  as  good  as  new." 

"Thanky,  Mas'  Bob,  thanky."  The  old 
Negro  said  it  as  fervently  as  if  he  had  not  worn 
out  that  old  broadcloth  a  dozen  years  ago. 

"  It 's  late  and  we  've  got  to  hurry  if  we 
want  things  prepared  in  time.  Tell  Lize  that 
I  want  her  to  let  herself  out  on  that  dinner. 
Your  Mas'  Bob  and  your  Mas'  Stanton  are 
going  to  be  home  to-morrow,  and  I  want  to 
show  them  that  their  father's  house  has  n't  lost 
any  of  the  qualities  that  have  made  it  famous  in 
Virginia  for  a  hundred  years.  Ike,  there  ain't 
anything  in  this  world  for  making  men  out  of 
boys  like  making  them  feel  the  debt  they  owe 
to  their  name  and  family." 

41  Yes,  suh,  Mas'  Bob  an'  Mas'  Stant  sholy 
is  mighty  fine  men." 

"  There  ain't  two  finer  in  the  whole  country, 

sir, —  no,  sir,  not  in  all  Virginia,  and  that  of 

necessity  means  the  whole  country.     Now,  Ike, 

I  want  you  to  get  out  some  of  that  wine  up  in 

73 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

the  second  cellar,  and  when  I  say  some  I  mean 
plenty.  It  ain't  seen  the  light  for  years,  but  it 
shall  gurgle  into  the  glasses  to-morrow  in  honour 
of  my  sons'  home-coming.  Good  wine  makes 
good  blood,  and  who  should  drink  good  wine  if 
not  an  Estridge  of  Virginia,  sir,  eh,  Ike  ?  " 

The  wine  had  gone  to  make  good  cheer 
when  a  Federal  regiment  had  lighted  its  camp- 
fires  on  the  Estridge  lawn,  but  old  Ike  had 
heard  it  too  often  before  and  knew  his  business 
too  well  to  give  any  sign. 

"  I  want  you  to  take  some  things  up  to  Miss 
Clarinda  Randolph  to-morrow,  too,  and  I  've 
got  a  silver  snuffbox  for  Thomas  Daniels.  I 
can't  make  many  presents  this  year.  I  've  got 
to  devote  my  money  to  the  interest  of  your 
young  masters." 

There  was  a  catch  in  the  Negro's  voice  as  he 
replied,  "  Yes,  Mas'  Estridge,  dey  needs  it  mos', 
dey  needs  it  mos'." 

The  old  colonel's  spell  of  talking  seldom 
lasted  long,  and  now  he  fell  to  eating  in  silence ; 
but  his  face  was  the  face  of  one  in  a  dream. 
Ike  waited  on  him  until  he  had  done,  and  then, 
clearing  the  things  away,  slipped  out,  leaving 
him  to  sit  and  muse  in  his  chair  by  the  window. 
74 


THE  COLONEL'S  AWAKENING 

"  Look  hyeah,  Lize,"  said  the  old  servant, 
as  he  entered  his  wife's  cabin  a  little  later. 
"  Pleggoned  ef  I  did  n't  come  purt'  nigh  brekin' 
down  dis  mo'nin'." 

"  Wha'  's  de  mattah  wif  you,  Ike  ?  " 

"Jes'  a-listenin'  to  oP  Mas'  a-sittin'  dah 
a-talkin'  lak  it  was  de  ol'  times,  —  a-sendin' 
messages  to  ol'  Miss  Randolph,  dat  's  been  daid 
too  long  to  talk  about,  an'  to  Mas'  Tom  Daniels, 
dat  went  acrost  de  wateh  ruther  'n  tek  de  oaf 
o'  'legiance." 

u  Oomph,"  said  the  old  lady,  wiping  her  eyes 
on  her  cotton  apron. 

"Den  he  expectin'  Mas'  Bob  an'  Mas'  Stant 
home  to-morrer.  'Clah  to  goodness,  when  he 
say  dat  I  lak  to  hollahed  right  out." 

"  Den  you  would  'a'  fixed  it,  would  n't  you  ? 
Set  down  an'  eat  yo'  breakfus',  Ike,  an'  don't 
you  nevah  let  on  when  Mas'  Estridge  talkin', 
you  jes'  go  'long  'bout  yo'  wuk  an'  keep  yo' 
mouf  shet,  'ca'se  ef  evah  he  wake  up  now  he 
gwine  to  die  right  straight  off." 

"  Lawd  he'p  him  not  to  wake  up  den,  'ca'se 

he  ol',  but  we  needs  him.     I  do'  know  whut  I  'd 

do  ef  I  did  n't  have  Mas'  Bob  to  wuk  fu'.     You 

got  ol'  Miss  Randolph's  present  ready  fu'  him  ?  " 

75 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  Co'se  I  has.  I  done  made  him  somep'n' 
diffunt  dis  yeah." 

"Made  him  somep'n'  diffunt  —  whut  you  say, 
Lize  ?  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  laying  his  knife 
and  fork  on  his  plate  and  looking  up  at  his  wife 
with  wide-open  eyes.  "  You  ain't  gwine  change 
afteh  all  dese  yeahs  ? " 

"  Yes.  I  jes'  pintly  had  to.  It 's  been  de 
same  thing  now  fu'  mo'  'n  twenty  yeahs." 

"  Whut  you  done  made  fu'  him  ?  " 

"  I 's  made  him  a  comfo't  to  go  roun'  his 
naik." 

"  But,  Lize,  oP  Miss  Cla'indy  allus  sont  him 
gloves  knit  wif  huh  own  han'.  Ain't  you  feared 
Mas'  Estridge  gwine  to  'spect  ?  " 

"  No,  he  ain't  gwine  to  'spect.  He  don't  tek 
no  notice  o'  nuffin',  an'  he  jes'  pintly  had  to  have 
dat  comfo't  fu'  his  naik,  'ca'se  he  boun'  to  go  out 
in  de  col'  sometime  er  ruther  an'  he  got  plenty 
gloves." 

"  I 's  feared,"  said  the  old  man,  sententiously, 
"  I 's  mighty  feared.  I  would  n't  have  Mastah 
know  we  been  doin'  fu'  him  an'  a-sendin'  him 
dese  presents  all  dis  time  fu'  nuffin'  in  de  worP. 
It  Vd  hu't  him  mighty  bad." 

"  He  ain't  foun'  out  all  dese  yeahs,  an'  he  ain't 
76 


THE   COLONEL'S   AWAKENING 

gwine  fin'  out  now."  The  old  man  shook  his 
head  dubiously,  and  ate  the  rest  of  his  meal  in 
silence. 

It  was  a  beautiful  Christmas  morning  as  he 
wended  his  way  across  the  lawn  to  his  old 
master's  room,  bearing  the  tray  of  breakfast 
things  and  "  ol'  Miss  Randolph's  present,  "  —  a 
heavy  home-made  scarf.  The  air  was  full  of 
frosty  brightness.  Ike  was  happy,  for  the  frost 
had  turned  the  persimmons.  The  'possums  had 
gorged  themselves,  and  he  had  one  of  the  fattest 
of  them  for  his  Christmas  dinner.  Colonel 
Estridge  was  sitting  in  his  old  place  by  the  win 
dow.  He  crumbled  an  old  yellow  envelope  in 
his  hand  as  Ike  came  in  and  set  the  things  down. 
It  looked  like  the  letter  which  had  brought  the 
news  of  young  Robert  Estridge's  loss,  but  it 
could  not  be,  for  the  old  man  sitting  there  had 
forgotten  that  and  was  expecting  the  son  home 
on  that  day. 

Ike  took  the  comforter  to  his  master,  and  began 
in  the  old  way  :  "  Miss  Cla'iny  Randolph  mek 
huh  comperments  to  you,  Mas'  Bob,  an'  say  — " 
But  his  master  had  turned  and  was  looking  him 
square  in  the  face,  and  something  in  the  look 
checked  his  flow  of  words.  Colonel  Estridge 
77 


did  not  extend  his  hand  to  take  the  gift.  "  Cla- 
rinda  Randolph,"  he  said,  "  always  sends  me 
gloves."  His  tone  was  not  angry,  but  it  was 
cold  and  sorrowful.  "  Lay  it  down,"  he  went 
on  more  kindly  and  pointing  to  the  comforter, 
"  and  you  may  go  now.  I  will  get  whatever  I 
want  from  the  table."  Ike  did  not  dare  to  demur. 
He  slipped  away,  embarrassed  and  distressed. 

"  Wha'  'd  I  tell  you  ?  "  he  asked  Lize,  as  soon 
as  he  reached  the  cabin.  "  J  believe  he  done 
woke  up."  But  the  old  woman  could  only 
mourn  and  wring  her  hands. 

"  Well,  nevah  min',"  said  Ike,  after  his  first 
moment  of  sad  triumph  was  over.  "  I  guess  it 
was  n't  the  comfo't  nohow,  'ca'se  I  seed  him  wif 
a  letteh  when  I  went  in,  but  I  did  n't  'spicion 
nuffin'  tell  he  look  at  me  an'  talk  jes'  ez  sensible 
ez  me  er  you." 

It  was  not  until  dinner-time  that  Ike  found 
courage  to  go  back  to  his  master's  room,  and 
then  he  did  not  find  him  sitting  in  his  accustomed 
place,  nor  was  he  on  the  porch  or  in  the  hall. 

Growing  alarmed,  the  old  servant  searched 
high  and  low  for  him,  until  he  came  to  the  door 
of  a  long-disused  room.  A  bundle  of  keys 
hung  from  the  keyhole. 

78 


THE   COLONEL'S    AWAKENING 

"  Hyeah  's  whah  he  got  dat  letteh,"  said  Ike. 
"  I  reckon  he  come  to  put  it  back."  But  even 
as  he  spoke,  his  eyes  bulged  with  apprehension. 
He  opened  the  door  farther,  and  went  in.  And 
there  at  last  his  search  was  ended.  Colonel  Est- 
ridge  was  on  his  knees  before  an  old  oak  chest. 
On  the  floor  about  him  were  scattered  pair  on  pair 
of  home-knit  gloves.  He  was  very  still.  His 
head  had  fallen  forward  on  the  edge  of  the  chest. 
Ike  went  up  to  him  and  touched  his  shoulder. 
There  was  no  motion  in  response.  The  black 
man  lifted  his  master's  head.  The  face  was 
pale  and  cold  and  lifeless.  In  the  stiffening 
hand  was  clenched  a  pair  of  gloves,  —  the  last 
Miss  Randolph  had  ever  really  knit  for  him. 
The  servant  lifted  up  the  lifeless  form,  and  laid 
it  upon  the  bed.  When  Lize  came  she  would 
have  wept  and  made  loud  lamentations,  but  Ike 
checked  her.  "  Keep  still,"  he  said.  "  Pray  if 
you  want  to,  but  don't  hollah.  We  ought  to  be 
proud,  Lize."  His  shoulders  were  thrown  back 
and  his  head  was  up.  "  Mas'  Bob  's  in  glory. 
Dis  is  Virginia's  Christmas  gif '  to  Gawd  !  " 


79 


THE   TRIAL   SERMONS 
ON   BULL-SKIN 


81 


THE   TRIAL   SERMONS   ON 
BULL-SKIN 

THE  congregation  on  Bull-Skin  Creek  was 
without  a  pastor.  You  will  probably  say  that 
this  was  a  deficiency  easily  remedied  among  a 
people  who  possess  so  much  theological  material. 
But  you  will  instantly  perceive  how  different  a 
matter  it  was,  when  you  learn  that  the  last 
shepherd  who  had  guided  the  flock  at  Bull-skin 
had  left  that  community  under  a  cloud.  There 
were,  of  course,  those  who  held  with  the  de 
parted  minister,  as  well  as  those  who  were 
against  him  ;  and  so  two  parties  arose  in  the 
church,  each  contending  for  supremacy.  Each 
party  refused  to  endorse  any  measure  or  support 
any  candidate  suggested  by  the  other;  and  as 
neither  was  strong  enough  to  run  the  church 
alone,  they  were  in  a  state  of  inactive  equipoise 
very  gratifying  to  that  individual  who  is  sup 
posed  to  take  delight  in  the  discomfort  of  the 
righteous. 

83 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

It  was  in  this  complicated  state  of  affairs  that 
Brother  Hezekiah  Sneedon,  who  was  the  repre 
sentative  of  one  of  the  candidates  for  the  vacant 
pastorate,  conceived  and  proposed  a  way  out  of 
the  difficulty.  Brother  Sneedon's  proposition 
was  favourably  acted  upon  by  the  whole  congre 
gation,  because  it  held  out  the  promise  of  victory 
to  each  party.  It  was,  in  effect,  as  follows  : 

Each  faction  —  it  had  come  to  be  openly  rec 
ognised  that  there  were  two  factions  —  should 
name  its  candidate,  and  then  they  should  be  in 
vited  to  preach,  on  successive  Sundays,  trial 
sermons  before  the  whole  congregation,  the 
preacher  making  the  better  impression  to  be 
called  as  pastor. 

"  And,"  added  Brother  Sneedon,  pacifically, 
"in  ordah  dat  dis  little  diffunce  between  de 
membahs  may  be  settled  in  ha'mony,  I  do  hope 
an'  pray  dat  de  pahty  dat  fin's  itse'f  outpreached 
will  give  up  to  de  othah  in  Christun  submis 
sion,  an'  th'ow  in  all  deir  might  to  hoi'  up  de 
han's  of  whatever  pastor  de  Lawd  may  please 
to  sen'." 

Sister   Hannah   Williams,  the    leader  of   the 
opposing    faction,    expressed     herself    as    well 
pleased    with    the  plan,  and   counselled   a   like 
84 


BROTHER    HEZEKIAH    SNEEDOX. 


TRIAL   SERMONS    ON   BULL-SKIN 

submission  to  the  will  of  the  majority.  And 
thus  the  difficulty  at  Bull-skin  seemed  in  a  fair 
way  to  settlement.  But  could  any  one  have 
read  that  lady's  thoughts  as  she  wended  her 
homeward  way  after  the  meeting,  he  would  have 
had  some  misgivings  concerning  the  success  of 
the  proposition  which  she  so  willingly  endorsed. 
For  she  was  saying  to  herself,  — 

"  Uh  huh !  ol'  Kiah  Sneedon  thinks  he 's 
mighty  sma't,  puttin'  up  dat  plan.  Reckon  he 
thinks  ol'  Abe  Ma'tin  kin  outpreach  anything 
near  an'  fur,  but  ef  Brothah  'Lias  Smith  don't 
fool  him,  I  ain't  talkin'." 

And  Brother  Sneedon  himself  was  not  entirely 
guiltless  of  some  selfish  thought  as  he  hobbled 
away  from  the  church  door. 

"  Ann,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  "  I  wunner  ef 
Hannah  Williams  ca'culates  dat  'Lias  Smith  kin 
beat  Brother  Abe  Ma'tin  preachin',  ki  yi !  but 
won't  she  be  riley  when  she  fin's  out  how  mis 
taken  she  is  ?  Why,  dey  ain't  nobody  'twixt 
hyeah  an'  Louisville  kin  beat  Brothah  Abe 
Ma'tin  preachin'.  I 's  hyeahed  dat  man  preach 
'twell  de  winders  rattled  an'  it  seemed  lak  de 
skies  mus'  come  down  anyhow,  an'  sinnahs  was 
a-fallin'  befo'  de  Wo'd  lak  leaves  in  a  Novem- 
85 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

bah  bias' ;  an'  she  'lows  to  beat  him,  oomph  !  " 
The  "  oomph  "  meant  disgust,  incredulity,  and, 
above  all,  resistance. 

The  first  of  the  momentous  Sundays  had  been 
postponed  two  weeks,  in  order,  it  was  said,  to 
allow  the  members  to  get  the  spiritual  and  tem 
poral  elements  of  the  church  into  order  that 
would  be  pleasing  to  the  eyes  of  a  new  pastor. 
In  reality,  Brother  Sneedon  and  Sister  Williams 
used  the  interval  of  time  to  lay  their  plans  and 
to  marshal  their  forces.  And  during  the  two 
weeks  previous  to  the  Sunday  on  which,  by 
common  consent,  it  had  been  agreed  to  invite 
the  Reverend  Elias  Smith  to  preach,  there  was 
an  ominous  quiet  on  the  banks  of  Bull-Skin,  — 
the  calm  that  precedes  a  great  upheaval,  when 
clouds  hang  heavy  with  portents  and  forebod 
ings,  but  silent  withal. 

But  there  were  events  taking  place  in  which 
the  student  of  diplomacy  might  have  found  food 
for  research  and  reflection.  Such  an  event  was 
the  taffy-pulling  which  Sister  Williams'  daugh 
ters,  Dora  and  Caroline,  gave  to  the  younger 
members  of  the  congregation  on  Thursday 
evening.  Such  were  the  frequent  incursions  of 
Sister  Williams  herself  upon  the  domains  of  the 
86 


TRIAL   SERMONS   ON   BULL-SKIN 

neighbours,  with  generous  offerings  of  "  a  taste 
o'  my  ketchup "  or  u  a  sample  o'  my  jelly." 
She  did  not  stop  with  rewarding  her  own  allies, 
but  went  farther,  gift-bearing,  even  into  the 
camp  of  the  enemy  himself. 

It  was  on  Friday  morning  that  she  called  on 
Sister  Sneedon.  She  found  the  door  ajar  and 
pushed  it  open,  saying,  "  You  see,  Sis'  Sneedon, 
I 's  jes'  walkin'  right  in." 

"  Oh,  it 's  you,  Sis'  Williams ;  dat  's  right, 
come  in.  I  was  jes'  settin'  hyeah  sawtin'  my 
cyahpet  rags,  de  mof  do  seem  to  pestah  'em  so. 
Tek  dis  cheer"  —  industriously  dusting  one 
with  her  apron.  "How  you  be'n  sence  I  seen 
you  las'?" 

"  Oh,  jes'  sawt  o'  so." 

"  How  's  Do'  an'  Ca'line  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Ca'line 's  peart  enough,  but  Do 's 
feelin'  kind  o'  peekid." 

"  Don't  you  reckon  she  grow  too  fas'  ?  " 

"  'Spec'  dat 's  about  hit  j  dat  gal  do  sutny 
seem  to  run  up  lak  a  weed." 

"  It  don't  nevah  do  'em  no  good  to  grow 
so  fas',  hit  seem  to  tek  away  all  deir  strengf." 

"Yes, 'm,  it   sholy  do;  gals   ain't  whut  dey 
used  to  be  in  yo'   an'   my  day,  nohow." 
87 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  Lawd,  no  ;  dey  's  ez  puny  ez  white  folks 
now." 

"  Well,  dem  sholy  is  lovely  cyahpet  rags  — 
put'  nigh  all  wool,  ain't  dey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  dey  is  wool,  evah  speck  an' 
stitch  ;  dey  ain't  a  bit  o'  cotton  among  'em.  I 
ain't  lak  some  folks ;  I  don't  b'lieve  in  mixin' 
my  rags  evah-which-way.  Den  when  you  gits 
'em  wove  have  de  cyahpet  wah  in  holes,  'cause 
some  '11  stan'  a  good  deal  o'  strain  an'  some 
won't ;  yes,  'm,  dese  is  evah  one  wool." 

"  An'  you  sholy  have  be'n  mighty  indust'ous 
in  gittin'  'em  togethah." 

" 1 's  wo'ked  ha'd  an'  done  my  level  bes', 
dat's  sho." 

u  Dat  's  de  mos'  any  of  us  kin  do.  But  I 
must  n't  be  settin'  hyeah  talkin'  all  day  an' 
keepin'  you  f'om  yo'  wo'k.  Why,  la!  I'd 
mos'  nigh  fu'got  what  I  come  fu'  —  I  jes' 
brung  you  ovah  a  tas'e  o'  my  late  greens. 
I  knows  how  you  laks  greens,  so  I  thought 
mebbe  you  'd  enjoy  dese." 

"  Why,  sho  enough  ;  now  ain't  dat  good  o' 
you,  Sis'  Williams  ?  Dey  's  right  wa'm,  too,  an' 
tu'nip  tops  —  bless  me  !  Why,  dese  mus'.  be 
de  ve'y  las'  greens  o'  de  season." 


TRIAL   SERMONS    ON   BULL-SKIN 

"  Well,  I  reely  don't  think  you  '11  fin'  none 
much  latah.  De  fros'  had  done  teched  dese, 
but  I  kin'  o'  kivered  'em  up  wif  leaves  ontwell 
dey  growed  up  wuf  cuttin'." 

"  Well,  I  knows  I  sholy  shell  relish  dem." 
Mrs.  Sneedon  beamed  as  she  emptied  the  dish 
and  insisted  upon  washing  it  for  her  visitor  to 
take  home  with  her.  "  Fu',"  she  said,  by  way 
of  humour,  "  I 's  a  mighty  po'  han'  to  retu'n 
nice  dishes  when  I  gits  'em  in  my  cu'boa'd 
once." 

Sister  Williams  rose  to  go.  "  Well,  you  '11 
be  out  to  chu'ch  Sunday  to  hyeah  Broth'  'Lias 
Smith ;  he  's  a  powahful  man,  sho." 

"  Dey  do  tell  me  so.  I  '11  be  thah.  You 
kin  'pend  on  me  to  be  out  whenevah  thah  's  to 
be  any  good  preachin'." 

"  Well,  we  kin  have  dat  kin'  o'  preachin'  all 
de  time  ef  we  gits  Broth'  'Lias  Smith." 

"Yes,'m." 

"  Dey  ain't  no  'sputin'  he  '11  be  a  movin' 
powah  at  Bull-Skin." 

"Yes,'rn." 

"  We  sistahs  '11  have  to  ban'  togethah  an'  try 
to  do  whut  is  bes'  fu'  de  chu'ch." 

"  Yes,  'm." 

89 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

11  Co'se,  Sistah  Sneedon,  ef  you  's  pleased  wif 
his  sermon,  I  suppose  you  '11  be  in  favoh  o' 
callin'  Broth'  'Lias  Smith." 

"  Well,  Sis'  Williams,  I  do'  know  ;  you  see 
Hezekier  's  got  his  hea't  sot  on  Broth'  Abe 
Ma'tin  fum  Dokesville  ;  he  's  mighty  sot  on 
him,  an'  when  he  's  sot  he  's  sot,  an'  you  know 
how  it  is  wif  us  women  when  de  men  folks 
says  dis  er  dat." 

Sister  Williams  saw  that  she  had  overshot  her 
mark.  "  Oh,  hit 's  all  right,  Sis'  Sneedon,  hit 's 
all  right.  I  jes'  spoke  of  it  a-wunnerin'.  What 
we  women  folks  wants  to  do  is  to  ban'  togethah 
to  hoi'  up  de  han'  of  de  pastah  dat  comes, 
whoms'ever  he  may  be." 

"  Dat 's  hit,  dat 's  hit,"  assented  her  com 
panion  ;  "  an'  you  kin  'pend  on  me  thah,  fu'  I 's 
a  powahful  han'  to  uphol'  de  ministah  whom 
s'ever  he  is." 

"  An'  you  right  too,  fu'  dey  's  de  shepuds  of 
de  flock.  Well,  I  mus'  be  goin'  —  come  ovah." 

"  I 's  a-comin'  —  come  ag'in  yo'se'f,  good 
bye." 

As  soon  as  her  visitor  was  gone,  Sister  Snee 
don  warmed  over  the  greens  and  sat  down  to 
the  enjoyment  of  them.  She  had  just  finished 
90 


TRIAL   SERMONS   ON   BULL-SKIN 

the  last  mouthful  when  her  better  half  entered. 
He  saw  the  empty  plate  and  the  green  liquor. 
Evidently  he  was  not  pleased,  for  be  it  said  that 
Brother  Sneedon  had  himself  a  great  tenderness 
for  turnip  greens. 

"  Wha  'd  you  git  dem  greens  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Sistah  Hannah  Williams  brung  'em  ovah 
to  me." 

"  Sistah  Hannah  —  who  ?  "  ejaculated  he. 

"  Sis'  Williams,  Sis'  Williams,  you  know 
Hannah  Williams." 

"  What !  dat  wolf  in  sheep's  clothin'  dat  's 
a-gwine  erroun'  a-seekin'  who  she  may  devowah, 
an'  you  hyeah  a-projickin'  wif  huh,  eatin'  de 
greens  she  gives  you  !  How  you  know  whut  's 
in  dem  greens  ?  " 

"  Oh,  g'long,  'Kiah,  you  so  funny  !  Sis'  Wil 
liams  ain't  gvvine  conju'  nobidy." 

"  You  hyeah  me,  you  hyeah  me  now.  Keep 
on  foolin'  wif  dat  ooman,  she  '11  have  you 
crawlin'  on  yo'  knees  an'  ba'kin,  lak  a  dog.  She 
kin  do  it,  she  kin  do  it,  fu'  she's  long-haided,  I 
tell  you." 

"  Well,  ef  she  wants  to  hu't  me  it 's  done, 
fu'  I 's  eat  de  greens  now." 

"Yes,"  exclaimed    Brother    Sneedon,    "you 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

eat  'em  up  lak  a  hongry  hog  an'  never  saved  me 
a  smudgeon." 

"  Oomph .'  I  thought  you  's  so  afeard  o'  gittin' 
conju'ed." 

"  Heish  up  !  you  's  allus  tryin'  to  raise  some 
kin'  er  contentions  in  de  fambly.  I  nevah  seed 
a  ooman  lak  you."  And  old  Hezekiah  strode 
out  of  the  cabin  in  high  dudgeon. 

And  so,  smooth  on  the  surface,  but  turbulent 
beneath,  the  stream  of  days  flowed  on  until  the 
Sunday  on  which  Reverend  Elias  Smith  was  to 
preach  his  trial  sermon.  His  fame  as  a  preacher, 
together  with  the  circumstances  surrounding  this 
particular  sermon,  had  brought  together  such  a 
crowd  as  the  little  church  on  Bull-Skin  had 
never  seen  before  even  in  the  heat  of  the  most 
successful  revivals.  Outsiders  had  come  from 
as  far  away  as  Christiansburg,  which  was  twelve, 
and  Fox  Run,  which  was  fifteen  miles  distant, 
and  the  church  was  crowded  to  the  doors. 

Sister  Williams  with  her  daughters  Dora  and 
Caroline  were  early  in  their  seats.  Their  rib 
bons  were  fluttering  to  the  breeze  like  the  ban 
ners  of  an  aggressive  host.  There  were  smiles 
of  anticipated  triumph  upon  their  faces.  Brother 
and  Sister  Sneedon  arrived  a  little  later.  They 
92 


TRIAL   SERMONS   ON   BULL-SKIN 

took  their  seat  far  up  in  the  "  amen  corner," 
directly  behind  the  Williams  family.  Sister 
Sneedon  sat  very  erect  and  looked  about  her, 
but  her  spouse  leaned  his  chin  upon  his  cane 
and  gazed  at  the  floor,  nor  did  he  raise  his  head, 
when,  preceded  by  a  buzz  of  expectancy,  the 
Reverend  Elias  Smith,  accompanied  by  Brother 
Abner  Williams,  who  was  a  local  preacher,  en 
tered  and  ascended  to  the  pulpit,  where  he  knelt 
in  silent  prayer. 

At  the  entrance  of  their  candidate,  the  female 
portion  of  the  Williams  family  became  instantly 
alert. 

They  were  all  attention  when  the  husband 
and  father  arose  and  gave  out  the  hymn  :  "  Am 
I  a  Soldier  of  the  Cross  ?  "  They  joined  lustily 
in  the  singing,  and  at  the  lines,  "Sure  I  must 
fight  if  I  would  reign,"  their  voices  rose  in  a 
victorious  swell  far  above  the  voices  of  the  rest 
of  the  congregation.  Prayer  followed,  and  then 
Brother  Williams  rose  and  said,  — 

"  Brothahs  an'  sistahs,  I  teks  gret  pleasuah 
in  interducin'  to  you  Eldah  Smith,  of  Doke- 
ville,  who  will  preach  fu'  us  at  dis  howah. 
I  want  to  speak  fu'  him  yo'  pra'ful  attention." 
Sister  Williams  nodded  her  head  in  approval, 
93 


FOLKS    FROM    DIXIE 

even  this  much  was  good ;  but  Brother  Sneedon 
sighed  aloud. 

The  Reverend  Elias  Smith  arose  and  glanced 
over  the  congregation.  He  was  young,  well- 
appearing,  and  looked  as  though  he  might  have 
been  unmarried.  He  announced  his  text  in  a 
clear,  resonant  voice  :  "  By  deir  fruits  shell  you 
know  dem." 

The  great  change  that  gave  to  the  blacks 
fairly  trained  ministers  from  the  schools  had  not 
at  this  time  succeeded  their  recently  accomplished 
emancipation.  And  the  sermon  of  Elder  Smith 
was  full  of  all  the  fervour,  common-sense,  and 
rude  eloquence  of  the  old  plantation  exhorter. 
He  spoke  to  his  hearers  in  the  language  that  they 
understood,  because  he  himself  knew  no  other. 
He  drew  his  symbols  and  illustrations  from  the 
things  which  he  saw  most  commonly  about  him, 
—  things  which  he  and  his  congregation  under 
stood  equally  well.  He  spent  no  time  in  dallying 
about  the  edge  of  his  subject,  but  plunged  immedi 
ately  into  the  middle  of  things,  and  soon  had  about 
him  a  shouting,  hallooing  throng  of  frantic  peo 
ple.  Of  course  it  was  the  Williams  faction  who 
shouted.  The  spiritual  impulse  did  not  seem  to 
reach  those  who  favoured  Brother  Sneedon's  can- 
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TRIAL   SERMONS   ON   BULL-SKIN 

didate.  They  sat  silent  and  undemonstrative. 
That  earnest  disciple  himself  still  sat  with  his 
head  bent  upon  his  cane,  and  still  at  intervals 
sighed  audibly.  He  had  only  raised  his  head 
once,  and  that  was  when  some  especially  power 
ful  period  in  the  sermon  had  drawn  from  the 
partner  of  his  joys  and  sorrows  an  appreciative 
"  Oomph  !  "  Then  the  look  that  he  shot  forth 
from  his  eyes,  so  full  of  injury,  reproach,  and 
menace,  repressed  her  noble  rage  and  settled  her 
back  into  a  quietude  more  consonant  with  her 
husband's  ideas. 

Meanwhile,  Sister  Hannah  Williams  and  her 
sylph-like  daughters  "  Do  "  and  "  Ca'line  "  were 
in  an  excess  of  religious  frenzy.  Whenever  any 
of  the  other  women  in  the  congregation  seemed 
to  be  working  their  way  too  far  forward,  those 
enthusiastic  sisters  shouted  their  way  directly 
across  the  approach  to  the  pulpit,  and  held  place 
there  with  such  impressive  and  menacing 
demonstrativeness  that  all  comers  were  warned 
back.  There  had  been  times  when,  actuated  by 
great  religious  fervour,  women  had  ascended  the 
rostrum  and  embraced  the  minister.  Rest  as 
sured,  nothing  of  that  kind  happened  in  this 
case,  though  the  preacher  waxed  more  and  more 
95 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

eloquent  as  he  proceeded,  —  an  eloquence  more 
of  tone,  look,  and  gesture  than  of  words.  He 
played  upon  the  emotions  of  his  willing  hearers, 
except  those  who  had  steeled  themselves  against 
his  power,  as  a  skilful  musician  upon  the  strings 
of  his  harp.  At  one  time  they  were  boisterously 
exultant,  at  another  they  were  weeping  and 
moaning,  as  if  in  the  realisation  of  many  sins. 
The  minister  himself  lowered  his  voice  to  a  soft 
rhythmical  moan,  almost  a  chant,  as  he  said,  — 
"  You  go  'long  by  de  road  an'  you  see  an  ol' 
shabby  tree  a-standin'  in  de  o'chud.  It  ain't  ha'dly 
got  a  apple  on  it.  Its  leaves  are  put'  nigh  all 
gone.  You  look  at  de  branches,  dey  's  all  rough 
an'  crookid.  De  tree 's  all  full  of  sticks  an' 
stones  an'  wiah  an'  ole  tin  cans.  Hit 's  all 
bruised  up  an'  hit 's  a  ha'd  thing  to  look  at 
altogether.  You  look  at  de  tree  an'  whut  do 
you  say  in  yo'  hea't  ?  You  say  de  tree  ain't  no 
'count,  fu'  c  by  deir  fruits  shell  you  know  dem.' 
But  you  wrong,  my  frien's,  you  wrong.  Dat 
tree  did  ba'  good  fruit,  an'  by  hits  fruit  was  hit 
knowed.  John  toP  Gawge  an'  Gawge  tol'  Sam, 
an'  evah  one  dat  passed  erlong  de  road  had  to 
.have  a  shy  at  dat  fruit.  Dey  be'n  th'owin'  at 
dat  tree  evah  sence  hit  begun  to  ba'  fruit,  an' 
96 


TRIAL   SERMONS    ON   BULL-SKIN 

dey  's  'bused  hit  so  dat  hit  could  n't  grow 
straight  to  save  hits  life.  Is  dat  whut's  de 
mattah  wif  you,  brothah,  all  bent  ovah  yo'  staff 
an'  a-groanin'  wif  yo'  burdens  ?  Is  dat  whut  's 
de  mattah  wif  you,  brothah,  dat  yo'  steps  are 
a-weary  an'  you  's  longin'  fu'  yo'  home  ?  Have 
dey  be'n  th'owin'  stones  an'  cans  at  you  ? 
Have  dey  be'n  beatin'  you  wif  sticks  ?  Have 
dey  tangled  you  up  in  oP  wiah  twell  you  could  n't 
move  han'  ner  foot  ?  Have  de  way  be'n  all 
trouble  ?  Have  de  sky  be'n  all  cloud  ?  Have 
de  sun  refused  to  shine  an'  de  day  be'n  all  da'k- 
ness  ?  Don't  git  werry,  be  consoled.  Whut  de 
mattah  !  Why,  I  tell  you  you  ba'in'  good  fruit, 
an'  de  debbil  cain't  stan'  it  — c  By  deir  fruits  shell 
you  know  dem.' 

"  You  go  'long  de  road  a  little  furder  an'  you 
see  a  tree  standin'  right  by  de  fence.  Standin' 
right  straight  up  in  de  air,  evah  limb  straight  out 
in  hits  place,  all  de  leaves  green  an'  shinin'  an' 
lovely.  Not  a  stick  ner  a  stone  ner  a  can  in 
sight.  You  look  'way  up  in  de  branches,  an' 
dey  hangin'  full  o'  fruit,  big  an'  roun'  an'  solid. 
You  look  at  dis  tree  an'  whut  now  do  you  say  in 
yo'  hea't  ?  You  say  dis  is  a  good  tree,  fu' '  by  deir 
fruits  shell  you  know  dem.'  But  you  wrongt 
7  97 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

you  wrong  ag'in,  my  frien's.  De  apples  on  dat 
tree  are  so  sowah  dat  dey  'd  puckah  up  yo'  mouf 
wuss  'n  a  green  pu'simmon,  an'  evahbidy  knows 
hit,  by  hits  fruit  is  hit  knowed.  Dey  don't  want 
none  o'  dat  fruit,  an'  dey  pass  hit  by  an'  don't 
bothah  dey  haids  about  it. 

"  Look  out,  brothah,  you  gwine  erlong  thoo 
dis  worl'  sailin'  on  flowery  beds  of  ease.  Look 
out,  my  sistah,  you  's  a-walkin'  in  de  sof '  pafs 
an'  a-dressin'  fine.  Ain't  nobidy  a-troublin' 
you,  nobidy  ain't  a-backbitin'  you,  nobidy  ain't 
a-castin'  yo'  name  out  as  evil.  You  all  right 
an'  movin'  smoov.  But  I  want  you  to  stop  an' 
'zamine  yo'se'ves.  I  want  you  to  settle  whut 
kin'  o'  fruit  you  ba'in,'  whut  kin'  o'  light  you 
showin'  fo'f  to  de  worl'.  An'  I  want  you  to 
stop  an'  tu'n  erroun'  when  you  fin'  out  dat  you 
ba'in'  bad  fruit,  an'  de  debbil  ain't  bothahed 
erbout  you  'ca'se  he  knows  you  his'n  anyhow. 
4  By  deir  fruits  shell  you  know  dem.' " 

The  minister  ended  his  sermon,  and  the  spell 
broke.  Collection  was  called  for  and  taken,  and 
the  meeting  dismissed. 

"  Wha'  'd  you  think  o'  dat  sermon  ?  "  asked 
Sister  Williams  of  one  of  her  good  friends ;  and 
the  good  friend  answered, — 
98 


TRIAL   SERMONS    ON    BULL-SKIN 

"  Tsch,  pshaw  !  dat  man  jes'  tuk  his  tex'  at 
de  fust  an'  nevah  leP  it." 

Brother  Sneedon  remarked  to  a  friend  :  "  Well, 
he  did  try  to  use  a  good  deal  o'  high  langgidge, 
but  whut  we  want  is  grace  an'  speritual  feelin'." 

The  Williams  faction  went  home  with  colours 
flying.  They  took  the  preacher  to  dinner. 
They  were  exultant.  The  friends  of  Brother 
Sneedon  were  silent  but  thoughtful. 

It  was  true,  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt, 
that  the  Reverend  Elias  Smith  had  made  a  won 
derful  impression  upon  his  hearers,  —  an  impres 
sion  that  might  not  entirely  fade  away  before 
the  night  on  which  the  new  pastor  was  to  be 
voted  for.  Comments  on  the  sermon  did  not 
end  with  the  closing  of  that  Sabbath  day.  The 
discussion  of  its  excellences  was  prolonged  into 
the  next  week,  and  continued  with  a  persistency 
dangerous  to  the  aspirations  of  any  rival  candi 
date.  No  one  was  more  fully  conscious  of  this 
menacing  condition  of  affairs  than  Hezekiah 
Sneedon  himself.  He  knew  that  for  the  minds 
of  the  people  to  rest  long  upon  the  exploits  of 
Elder  Smith  would  be  fatal  to  the  chances  of  his 
own  candidate  ;  so  he  set  about  inventing  some 
way  to  turn  the  current  of  public  thought  into 
99 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

another  channel.  And  nothing  but  a  powerful 
agency  could  turn  it.  But  in  fertility  of  resources 
Hezekiah  Sneedon  was  Napoleonic.  Though 
his  diplomacy  was  greatly  taxed  in  this  case, 
he  came  out  victorious  and  with  colours  flying 
when  he  hit  upon  the  happy  idea  of  a  "  'possum 
supper."  That  would  give  the  people  some 
thing  else  to  talk  about  beside  the  Reverend 
Elias  Smith  and  his  wonderful  sermon.  But 
think  not,  O  reader,  that  the  intellect  that  con 
ceived  this  new  idea  was  so  lacking  in  the  essen 
tial  qualities  of  diplomacy  as  to  rush  in  his 
substitute,  have  done  with  it,  and  leave  the 
public's  attention  to  revert  to  its  former  object. 
Brother  Sneedon  was  too  wary  for  this.  Indeed, 
he  did  send  his  invitations  out  early  to  the  con 
gregation  ;  but  this  only  aroused  discussion  and 
created  anticipation  which  was  allowed  to  grow 
and  gather  strength  until  the  very  Saturday 
evening  on  which  the  event  occurred. 

Sister  Hannah  Williams  saw  through  the 
plot  immediately,  but  she  could  not  play  coun 
ter,  so  she  contented  herself  with  saying  :  "  Dat 
Hezikiah  Sneedon  is  sholy  de  bigges'  scamp  dat 
evah  trod  shoe-leathah."  But  nevertheless,  she 
did  not  refuse  an  invitation  to  be  present  at  the 
100 


TRIAL   SERMONS    ON    BULL-SKIN 

supper.  She  would  go,  she  said,  for  the  pur 
pose  of  seeing  "  how  things  went  on."  But 
she  added,  as  a  sort  of  implied  apology  to  her 
conscience,  "  and  den  I 's  powahful  fond  o' 
'possum,  anyhow." 

In  inviting  Sister  Williams,  Brother  Sneedon 
had  taken  advantage  of  the  excellent  example 
which  that  good  woman  had  set  him,  and  was 
carrying  the  war  right  into  the  enemy's  country ; 
but  he  had  gone  farther  in  one  direction,  and 
by  the  time  the  eventful  evening  arrived  had 
prepared  for  his  guests  a  coup  d'etat  which  was 
unanticipated  even  by  his  own  wife. 

He  had  been  engaged  in  a  secret  correspond 
ence,  the  result  of  which  was  seen  when, 
just  after  the  assembling  of  the  guests  in  the 
long,  low  room  which  was  parlour,  sitting,  and 
dining  room  in  the  Sneedon  household,  the 
wily  host  ushered  in  and  introduced  to  the 
astonished  people  the  Reverend  Abram  Martin. 
They  were  not  allowed  to  recover  from  their 
surprise  before  they  were  seated  at  the  table, 
grace  said  by  the  reverend  brother,  and  the 
supper  commenced.  And  such  a  supper  as  it 
was,  —  one  that  could  not  but  soften  the  feelings 
and  touch  the  heart  of  any  Negro.  It  was  a 
101 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

supper  that  disarmed  opposition.  Sister  Han 
nah  was  seated  at  the  left  of  Reverend  Abram 
Martin,  who  was  a  fluent  and  impressive  talker; 
and  what  with  his  affability  and  the  delight  of 
the  repast,  she  grew  mollified  and  found  herself 
laughing  and  chatting.  The  other  members  of 
her  faction  looked  on,  and,  seeing  her  pleased 
with  the  minister,  grew  pleased  themselves. 
The  Reverend  Abram  Martin's  magnetic  in 
fluence  ran  round  the  board  like  an  electric 
current. 

He  could  tell  a  story  with  a  dignified  humour 
that  was  irresistible, — and  your  real  Negro  is  a 
lover  of  stories  and  a  teller  of  them.  Soon, 
next  to  the  'possum,  he  was  the  centre  of 
attraction  around  the  table,  and  he  held  forth 
while  the  diners  listened  respectfully  to  his  pro 
found  observations  or  laughed  uproariously  at 
his  genial  jokes.  All  the  while  Brother  Snee- 
don  sat  delightedly  by,  watchful,  but  silent, 
save  for  the  occasional  injunction  to  his  guests 
to  help  themselves.  And  they  did  so  with  a 
gusto  that  argued  well  for  their  enjoyment  of 
the  food  set  before  them.  As  the  name  by 
which  the  supper  was  designated  would  imply, 
'possum  was  the  principal  feature,  but,  even 
102 


TRIAL   SERMONS   ON   BULL-SKIN 

after  including  the  sweet  potatoes  and  brown 
gravy,  that  was  not  all.  There  was  hog  jole 
and  cold  cabbage,  ham  and  Kentucky  oysters, 
more  widely  known  as  chittlings.  What  more 
there  was  it  boots  not  to  tell.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  there  was  little  enough  of  anything  left  to 
do  credit  to  the  people's  dual  powers  of  listen 
ing  and  eating,  for  in  all  this  time  the  Reverend 
Abram  Martin  had  not  abated  his  conversational 
efforts  nor  they  their  unflagging  attention. 

Just  before  the  supper  was  finished,  the 
preacher  was  called  upon,  at  the  instigation  of 
Hezekiah  Sneedon,  of  course,  to  make  a  few 
remarks,  which  he  proceeded  to  do  in  a  very 
happy  and  taking  vein.  Then  the  affair  broke 
up,  and  the  people  went  home  with  myriad 
comments  on  their  tongues.  But  one  idea 
possessed  the  minds  of  all,  and  that  was  that 
the  Reverend  Abram  Martin  was  a  very  able 
man,  and  charming  withal. 

It  was  at  this  hour,  when  opportunity  for 
sober  reflection  returned,  that  Sister  Williams 
first  awakened  to  the  fact  that  her  own  conduct 
had  compromised  her  cause.  She  did  not  sleep 
that  night — she  lay  awake  and  planned,  and 
the  result  of  her  planning  was  a  great  fumbling 
103 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

the  next  morning  in  the  little  bag  where  she 
kept  her  earnings,  and  the  despatching  of  her 
husband  on  an  early  and  mysterious  errand. 

The  day  of  meeting  came,  and  the  church 
presented  a  scene  precisely  similar  to  that  of  the 
previous  Sunday.  If  there  was  any  difference, 
it  was  only  apparent  in  the  entirely  alert  and 
cheerful  attitude  of  Brother  Sneedon  and  the 
reversed  expressions  of  the  two  factions.  But 
even  the  latter  phase  was  not  so  marked,  for  the 
shrewd  Sister  Williams  saw  with  alarm  that  her 
forces  were  demoralised.  Some  of  them  were 
sitting  near  the  pulpit  with  expressions  of  pleas 
ant  anticipation  on  their  faces,  and  as  she  looked 
at  them  she  groaned  in  spirit.  But  her  lips 
v/ere  compressed  in  a  way  that  to  a  close  ob 
server  would  have  seemed  ominous,  and  ever 
and  anon  she  cast  anxious  and  expectant  glances 
toward  the  door.  Her  husband  sat  upon  her 
left,  an  abashed,  shamefaced  expression  domi 
nating  his  features.  He  continually  followed 
her  glances  toward  the  door  with  a  furtive,  half- 
frightened  look ;  and  when  Sneedon  looked  his 
way,  he  avoided  his  eye. 

That  arch  schemer  was  serene  and  unruffled. 
He  had  perpetrated  a  stroke  of  excellent  policy 
104 


TRIAL   SERMONS    ON    BULL-SKIN 

by  denying  himself  the  pleasure  of  introducing 
the  new  minister,  and  had  placed  that  matter  in 
the  hands  of  Isaac  Jordan,  a  member  of  the  op 
posing  faction  and  one  of  Sister  Williams'  stanch- 
est  supporters.  Brother  Jordan  was  pleased  and 
flattered  by  the  distinction,  and  converted. 

The  service  began.  The  hymn  was  sung, 
the  prayer  said,  and  the  minister,  having  been 
introduced,  was  already  leading  out  from  his 
text,  when,  with  a  rattle  and  bang  that  instantly 
drew  every  eye  rearward,  the  door  opened  and  a 
man  entered.  Apparently  oblivious  to  the  fact 
that  he  was  the  centre  of  universal  attention,  he 
came  slowly  down  the  aisle  and  took  a  seat  far 
to  the  front  of  the  church.  A  gleam  of  satisfac 
tion  shot  from  the  eye  of  Sister  Williams,  and 
with  a  sigh  she  settled  herself  in  her  seat  and 
turned  her  attention  to  the  sermon.  Brother 
Sneedon  glanced  at  the  new-comer  and  grew 
visibly  disturbed.  One  sister  leaned  over  and 
whispered  to  another,  — 

"  I     wunner     whut    Bud     Lewis    is   a-doin' 
hyeah  ?  " 

"  I  do'  know,"  answered  the  other,  "  but  I 
do  hope  an'  pray  dat  he  won't  git  into  none  o' 
his  shoutin'  tantrums  to-day." 
I05 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  Well,  ef  he  do,  I 's  a-leavin'  hyeah,  you 
hyeah  me,"  rejoined  the  first  speaker. 

The  sermon  had  progressed  about  one-third 
its  length,  and  the  congregation  had  begun  to 
show  frequent  signs  of  awakening  life,  when 
on  an  instant,  with  startling  suddenness,  Bud 
Lewis  sprang  from  his  seat  and  started  on  a 
promenade  down  the  aisle,  swinging  his  arms 
in  sweeping  semi-circles,  and  uttering  a  sound 
like  the  incipient  bellow  of  a  steamboat. 
"  Whough  !  Whough  !  "  he  puffed,  swinging 
from  side  to  side  down  the  narrow  passageway. 

At  the  first  demonstration  from  the  new 
comer,  people  began  falling  to  right  and  left  out 
of  his  way.  The  fame  of  Bud  Lewis'  "  shoutin' 
tantrums  "  was  widespread,  and  they  who  knew 
feared  them.  This  unregenerate  mulatto  was 
without  doubt  the  fighting  man  of  Bull-Skin. 

While,  as  a  general  thing,  he  shunned  the 
church,  there  were  times  when  a  perverse  spirit 
took  hold  of  him,  and  he  would  seek  the  meet 
ing-house,  and  promptly,  noisily,  and  violently 
"  get  religion."  At  these  times  he  made  it  a 
point  to  knock  people  helter-skelter,  trample  on 
tender  toes,  and  do  other  mischief,  until  in  many 
cases  the  meeting  broke  up  in  confusion.  The 
106 


TRIAL    SERMONS   ON   BULL-SKIN 

saying  finally  grew  to  be  proverbial  among  the 
people  in  the  Bull-Skin  district  that  they  would 
rather  see  a  thunderstorm  than  Bud  Lewis  get 
religion. 

On  this  occasion  he  made  straight  for  the 
space  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  where  his  vociferous 
hallelujahs  entirely  drowned  the  minister's  voice; 
while  the  thud,  thud,  thud  of  his  feet  upon  the 
floor,  as  he  jumped  up  and  down,  effectually 
filled  up  any  gap  of  stillness  which  his  halle 
lujahs  might  have  left. 

Hezekiah  Sneedon  knew  that  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Martin's  sermon  would  be  ruined,  and  he 
saw  all  his  cherished  hopes  destroyed  in  a 
moment.  He  was  a  man  of  action,  and  one 
glance  at  Sister  Williams'  complacent  counte 
nance  decided  him.  He  rose,  touched  Isaac 
Jordan,  and  said,  "  Come  on,  let 's  hold  him." 
Jordan  hesitated  a  minute ;  but  his  leader  was 
going  on,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
follow  him.  They  approached  Lewis,  and 
each  seized  an  arm.  The  man  began  to  strug 
gle.  Several  other  men  joined  them  and  laid 
hold  on  him. 

"  Quiet,     brother,    quiet,"    said     Hezekiah 
Sneedon ;  "  dis  is  de  house  o'  de  Lawd." 
107 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  You  lemme  go,"  shrieked  Bud  Lewis. 
"  Lemme  go,  I  say." 

"  But  you  mus'  be  quiet,  so  de  res'  o'  de 
congregation  kin  hyeah." 

"  I  don't  keer  whethah  dey  hyeahs  er  not. 
I  reckon  I  kin  shout  ef  I  want  to."  The 
minister  had  paused  in  his  sermon,  and  the 
congregation  was  alert. 

"  Brother,  you  mus'  not  distu'b  de  meetin'. 
Praise  de  Lawd  all  you  want  to,  but  give  some- 
bidy  else  a  chance  too." 

"  I  won't,  I  won't ;  lemme  go.  I 's  paid  fu' 
shoutin',  an'  I 's  gwine  to  shout."  Hezekiah 
Sneedon  caught  the  words,  and  he  followed  up 
his  advantage. 

"  You 's  paid  fu'  shoutin' !     Who  paid  you  ?  " 

"  Hannah  Williams,  dat  's  who  !  Now  you 
lemme  go ;  I 's  gwine  to  shout." 

The  effect  of  this  declaration  was  magical. 
The  brothers,  by  their  combined  efforts,  lifted 
the  struggling  mulatto  from  his  feet  and  carried 
him  out  of  the  chapel,  while  Sister  Williams' 
face  grew  ashen  in  hue. 

The  congregation  settled  down,  and  the  ser 
mon  was  resumed.  Disturbance  and  opposition 
only  seemed  to  have  heightened  the  minister's 
1 08 


TRIAL   SERMONS   ON   BULL-SKIN 

power,  and  he  preached  a  sermon  that  is  re 
membered  to  this  day  on  Bull-Skin.  Before  it 
was  over,  Bud  Lewis'  guards  filed  back  into 
church  and  listened  with  enjoyment  to  the 
remainder  of  the  discourse. 

The  service  closed,  and  under  cover  of  the 
crowd  that  thronged  about  the  altar  to  shake  the 
minister's  hand  Hannah  Williams  escaped. 

As  the  first  item  of  business  at  the  church 
meeting  on  the  following  Wednesday  evening, 
she  was  formally  u  churched  "  and  expelled  from 
fellowship  with  the  flock  at  Bull-Skin  for 
planning  to  interrupt  divine  service.  The  next 
business  was  the  unanimous  choice  of  Reverend 
Abram  Martin  for  the  pastorate  of  the  church. 


109 


JIMSELLA 


JIMSELLA 

No  one  could  ever  have  accused  Mandy  Mason 
of  being  thrifty.  For  the  first  twenty  years 
of  her  life  conditions  had  not  taught  her  the 
necessity  for  thrift.  But  that  was  before  she 
had  come  North  with  Jim.  Down  there  at 
home  one  either  rented  or  owned  a  plot  of 
ground  with  a  shanty  set  in  the  middle  of  it,  and 
lived  off  the  products  of  one's  own  garden  and 
coop.  But  here  it  was  all  very  different :  one 
room  in  a  crowded  tenement  house,  and  the 
necessity  of  grinding  day  after  day  to  keep  the 
wolf — a  very  terrible  and  ravenous  wolf — 
from  the  door.  No  wonder  that  Mandy  was 
discouraged  and  finally  gave  up  to  more  than 
her  old  shiftless  ways. 

Jim  was  no  less  disheartened.  He  had  been 
so  hopeful  when  he  first  came,  and  had  really 
worked  hard.  But  he  could  not  go  higher  than 
his  one  stuffy  room,  and  the  food  was  not  so 
good  as  it  had  been  at  home.  In  this  state  of 
mind,  Mandy's  shiftlessness  irritated  him.  He 
8  113 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

grew  to  look  on  her  as  the  source  of  all  his  dis 
appointments.  Then,  as  he  walked  Sixth  or 
Seventh  Avenue,  he  saw  other  coloured  women 
who  dressed  gayer  than  Mandy,  looked  smarter, 
and  did  not  wear  such  great  shoes.  These  he 
contrasted  with  his  wife,  to  her  great  dis 
advantage. 

"  Mandy,"  he  said  to  her  one  day,  "  why 
don't  you  fix  yo'se'f  up  an'  look  like  people  ? 
You  go  'roun'  hyeah  lookin'  like  I  dunno 
what." 

"  Why  n't  you  git  me  somep'n'  to  fix  myse'f 
up  in  ?  "  came  back  the  disconcerting  answer. 

"  Ef  you  had  any  git  up  erbout  you,  you  'd 
git  somep'n'  fu'  yo'se'f  an'  not  wait  on  me  to 
do  evahthing." 

"  Well,  ef  I  waits  on  you,  you  keeps  me 
waitin',  fu'  I  ain'  had  nothin'  fit  to  eat  ner 
waih  since  I  been  up  hyeah." 

"  Nev'  min' !  You  's  mighty  free  wid  yo' 
talk  now,  but  some  o'  dese  days  you  won't  be  so 
free.  You  's  gwine  to  wake  up  some  mo'nin' 
an'  fin'  dat  I  's  lit  out ;  dat  's  what  you  will." 

"  Well,  I  'low  nobody  ain't  got  no  string  to 
you." 

Mandy  took  Jim's  threat  as  an  idle  one,  so 
114 


WHY'N'T  YOU  GIT  MK  SOMP'N  TO  FIX  MYSELF  ur  IN 


JIMSELLA 

she  could  afford  to  be  independent.  But  the 
next  day  had  found  him  gone.  The  deserted 
wife  wept  for  a  time,  for  she  had  been  fond  of 
Jim,  and  then  she  set  to  work  to  struggle  on 
by  herself.  It  was  a  dismal  effort,  and  the 
people  about  her  were  not  kind  to  her.  She 
was  hardly  of  their  class.  She  was  only  a  sim 
ple,  honest  countrywoman,  who  did  not  go  out 
with  them  to  walk  the  avenue. 

When  a  month  or  two  afterward  the  sheepish 
Jim  returned,  ragged  and  dirty,  she  had  forgiven 
him  and  taken  him  back.  -But  immunity  fron^l 
punishment  spoiled  him,  and  hence  of  late  his  1 
lapses  had  grown  more  frequent  and   of  longer; 
duration.  V 

He  walked  in  one  morning,  after  one  of  his 
absences,  with  a  more  than  usually  forbidding 
face,  for  he  had  heard  the  news  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  before  he  got  in.  During  his  absence 
a  baby  had  come  to  share  the  poverty  of  his 
home.  He  thought  with  shame  at  himself, 
which  turned  into  anger,  that  the  child  must  be 
three  months  old  and  he  had  never  seen  it. 

"  Back  ag'in,  Jim  ?  "  was  all  Mandy  said  as 
he  entered  and  seated  himself  sullenly. 

"  Yes,  I 's  back,  but  I  ain't  back  fu'  long.     I 
MS 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

jes'  come  to  git  my  clothes.     I 's  a-gwine  away 
fu'  good." 

"  Gwine  away  ag'in  !  Why,  you  been  gone 
fu'  nigh  on  to  fou'  months  a'ready.  Ain't  you 
nevah  gwine  to  stay  home  no  mo'  ?  " 

"I  tol'  you  I  was  gwine  away  fu'  good, 
did  n't  I  ?  Well,  dat  's  what  I  mean." 

"  Ef  you  did  n't  want  me,  Jim,  I  wish  to 
Gawd  dat  you  'd  'a'  lef '  me  back  home  among 
my  folks,  whaih  people  knowed  me  an'  would  'a' 
give  me  a  helpin'  han'.  Dis  hyeah  No'f  ain't 
no  fittin'  place  fu'  a  lone  colo'ed  ooman  less  'n 
she  got  money." 

"  It  ain't  no  place  fu'  nobody  dat 's  jes'  lazy 
an'  no  'count." 

"  I  ain't  no'  count.  I  ain't  wuffless.  I  does 
de  bes'  I  kin.  I  been  wo'kin'  like  a  dog  to  try 
an'  keep  up  while  you  trapsein'  'roun',  de  Lawd 
knows  whaih.  When  I  was  single  I  could  git 
out  an'  mek  my  own  livin'.  I  did  n't  ax  no 
body  no  odds ;  but  you  wa'n't  satisfied  ontwell 
I  ma'ied  you,  an'  now,  when  I 's  tied  down  wid 
a  baby,  dat 's  de  way  you  treats  me." 

The  woman  sat  down  and  began  to  cry,  and 
the  sight  of  her  tears  angered  her  husband  the 
more. 

.116 


JIMSELLA 

"  Oh,  cry  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Cry  all  you 
want  to.  I  reckon  you  '11  cry  yo'  fill  befo'  you 
gits  me  back.  What  do  I  keer  about  de  baby! 
Dat  's  jes'  de  trouble.  It  wa'  n't  enough  fu' 
me  to  have  to  feed  an'  clothe  you  a-layin' 
'roun'  doin'  nothin',  a  baby  had  to  go  an'  come 
too." 

"  It 's  yo'n,  an'  you  got  a  right  to  tek  keer  of 
it,  dat  's  what  you  have.  I  ain't  a-gwine  to 
waih  my  soul-case  out  a-tryin'  to  pinch  along 
an'  sta've  to  def  at  las'.  I  '11  kill  myse'f  an'  de 
chile,  too,  fus." 

The  man  looked  up  quickly.  "  Kill  yo'- 
se'f,"  he  said.  Then  he  laughed.  "  Who  evah 
hyeahed  tell  of  a  niggah  killin'  hisse'f?" 

"  Nev'  min',  nev'  min',  you  jes'  go  on  yo' 
way  rejoicin'.  I  'spect  you  runnin'  'roun'  aftah 
somebody  else  —  dat 's  de  reason  you  cain't 
nevah  stay  at  home  no  mo'." 

"  Who  tol'  you  dat  ?  "  exclaimed  the  man, 
fiercely.  "  I  ain't  runnin'  aftah  nobody  else  — 
't  ain't  none  o'  yo'  business  ef  I  is." 

The  denial  and  implied  confession  all  came 
out  in  one  breath. 

"  Ef  hit  ain't  my  bus'ness,  I  'd  like  to  know 
whose  it  gwine  to  be.  I 's  yo'  lawful  wife  an' 
117 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

hit 's  me  dat  's  a-sta'vin'  to  tek  keer  of  yo' 
chile." 

"  Doggone  de  chile ;  I 's  tiahed  o'  hyeahin' 
'bout  huh." 

"  You  done  got  tiahed  mighty  quick  when 
you  ain't  nevah  even  seed  huh  yit.  You  done 
got  tiahed  quick,  sho." 

"  No,  an'  I  do'  want  to  see  huh,  neithah." 

"  You  do'  know  nothin'  'bout  de  chile,  you 
do'  know  whethah  you  wants  to  see  huh  er 
not." 

"  Look  hyeah,  ooman,  don't  you  fool  wid  me. 
I  ain't  right,  nohow  !  " 

Just  then,  as  if  conscious  of  the  hubbub  she 
had  raised,  and  anxious  to  add  to  it,  the  baby 
awoke  and  began  to  wail.  With  quick  mother 
instinct,  the  black  woman  went  to  the  shabby 
bed,  and,  taking  the  child  in  her  arms,  began  to 
croon  softly  to  it :  "  Go  s'eepy,  baby ;  don' 
you  be  'Paid;  mammy  ain'  gwine  let  nuffin' 
hu't  you,  even  ef  pappy  don'  wan'  look  at  huh 
li'l  face.  Bye,  bye,  go  s'ee.py,  mammy's  li'l 
gal."  Unconsciously  she  talked  to  the  baby  in 
a  dialect  that  was  even  softer  than  usual.  For 
a  moment  the  child  subsided,  and  the  woman 
turned  angrily  on  her  husband  :  "  I  don'  keer 
118 


JIMSELLA 

whethah  you  evah  sees  dis  chile  er  not.  She 's  a 
blessed  li'l  angel,  dat  's  what  she  is,  an'  I  '11 
wo'k  my  fingahs  off  to  raise  huh,  an'  when  she 
grows  up,  ef  any  nasty  niggah  comes  erroun' 
mekin'  eyes  at  huh,  I  '11  tell  huh  'bout  huh 
pappy  an'  she  '11  stay  wid  me  an'  be  my  comfo't." 

"  Keep  yo'  comfo't.  Gawd  knows  I  do* 
want  huh." 

"  De  time  '11  come,  though,  an'  I  kin  wait 
fu'  it.  Hush-a-bye,  Jimsella." 

The  man  turned  his  head  slightly. 

"  What  you  call  huh  ?  " 

"  I  calls  huh  Jimsella,  dat 's  what  I  calls 
huh,  'ca'se  she  de  ve'y  spittin'  image  of  you.  I 
gwine  to  jes'  lun  to  huh  dat  she  had  a  pappy,  so 
she  know  she  's  a  hones'  chile  an'  kin  hoi'  up 
huh  haid." 

"  Oomph  !  " 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  while,  and  then 
Jim  said,  "Huh  name  ought  to  be  Jamsella  — 
don't  you  know  Jim  's  sho't  fu'  James  ?  " 

"  I  don't  keer  what  it 's  sho't  fu'."  The 
woman  was  holding  the  baby  close  to  her  breast 
and  sobbing  now.  "  It  was  n't  no  James  dat 
come  a-cou'tin'  me  down  home.  It  was  jes'  plain 
Jim.  Dat 's  what  de  mattah,  I  reckon  you  done 
119 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

got  to  be  James."  Jim  did  n't  answer,  and 
there  was  another  space  of  silence,  only  inter 
rupted  by  two  or  three  contented  gurgles  from 
the  baby. 

"  I  bet  two  bits  she  don't  look  like  me,"  he 
said  finally,  in  a  dogged  tone  that  was  a  little 
tinged  with  curiosity. 

"  I  know  she  do.     Look  at  huh  yo'se'f." 

"  I  ain'  gwine  look  at  huh." 

"  Yes,  you 's  'fraid —  dat  's  de  reason." 

"  I  ain'  'fraid  nuttin'  de  kin'.  What  I  got 
to  be  'fraid  fu'  ?  I  reckon  a  man  kin  look  at 
his  own  darter.  I  will  look  jes'  to  spite  you." 

He  could  n't  see  much  but  a  bundle  of  rags, 
from  which  sparkled  a  pair  of  beady  black  eyes. 
But  he  put  his  finger  down  among  the  rags. 
The  baby  seized  it  and  gurgled.  The  sweat 
broke  out  on  Jim's  brow. 

"  Cain't  you  let  me  hold  de  baby  a  minute  ?  " 
he  said  angrily.  "You  must  be  'fraid  I  '11  run 
off  wid  huh."  He  took  the  child  awkwardly  in 
his  arms. 

The  boiling  over  of  Mandy's  clothes  took  her 

to  the  other  part  of  the  room,  where  she  was 

busy  for  a  few  minutes.     When  she  turned  to 

look  for  Jim,  he  had  slipped  out,  and  Jimsella 

120 


JIMSELLA 

was  lying  on  the  bed  trying  to  kick  free  of  the 
coils  which  swaddled  her. 

At  supper-time  that  evening  Jim  came  in 
with  a  piece  of  "  shoulder-meat  "  and  a  head  of 
cabbage. 

"  You  '11  have  to  git  my  dinnah  ready  fu'  me 
to  ca'y  to-morrer.  I 's  wo' kin'  on  de  street,  an' 
I  cain't  come  home  twell  night." 

"  Wha',  what !  "  exclaimed  Mandy,  "  den 
you  ain'  gwine  leave,  aftah  all." 

"  Don't  bothah  me,  ooman,"  said  Jim.  "  Is 
Jimsella  'sleep  ?  " 


121 


MT.   PISGAH'S 
CHRISTMAS   'POSSUM 


123 


MT.  PISGAH'S  CHRISTMAS  'POSSUM 

No  more  happy  expedient  for  raising  the  rev 
enues  of  the  church  could  have  been  found  than 
that  which  was  evolved  by  the  fecund  brain  of 
the  Reverend  Isaiah  Johnson.  Mr.  Johnson 
was  wise  in  his  day  and  generation.  He  knew 
his  people,  their  thoughts  and  their  appetites, 
their  loves  and  their  prejudices.  Also  he 
knew  the  way  to  their  hearts  and  their  pocket- 
books. 

As  far  ahead  as  the  Sunday  two  weeks  before 
Christmas,  he  had  made  the  announcement  that 
had  put  the  congregation  of  Mt.  Pisgah  church 
into  a  flurry  of  anticipatory  excitement. 

"  Brothahs  an'  sistahs,"  he  had  said,  "  you  all 
reckernizes,  ez  well  ez  I  does,  dat  de  revenues 
of  dis  hyeah  chu'ch  ain't  whut  dey  ought  to  be. 
De  chu'ch,  I  is  so'y  to  say,  is  in  debt.  We  has 
a  mo' gage  on  ouah  buildin',  an'  besides  de  int'rus' 
on  dat,  we  has  fuel  to  buy  an'  lightin'  to  do. 
"5 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

Fu'thahmo',  we  ain't  paid  de  sexton  but 
twenty-five  cents  on  his  salary  in  de  las'  six 
months.  In  conserquence  of  de  same,  de  dus' 
is  so  thick  on  de  benches  dat  ef  you  'd  jes'  lay  a 
clof  ovah  dem,  dey  'd  be  same  ez  upholstahed 
fu'niture.  Now,  in  o'dah  to  mitigate  dis  con 
dition  of  affairs,  yo'  pastoh  has  fo'med  a  plan 
which  he  wishes  to  p'nounce  dis  mo'nin'  in  yo' 
hyeahin'  an'  to  ax  yo'  'proval.  You  all  knows 
dat  Chris'mus  is  'proachin,'  an'  I  reckon  dat  you 
is  all  plannin'  out  yo'  Chris'mus  dinnahs.  But 
I  been  a-plannin'  fu'  you  when  you  was  asleep, 
an'  my  idee  is  dis, —  all  of  you  give  up  yo' 
Chris'mus  dinnahs,  tek  fifteen  cents  er  a  qua'tah 
apiece  an'  come  hyeah  to  chu'ch  an'  have  a 
'possum  dinnah." 

"  Amen ! "  shouted  one  delighted  old  man 
over  in  the  corner,  and  the  whole  congregation 
was  all  smiles  and  acquiescent  nods. 

41 1  puceive  on  de  pa't  of  de  cong'egation  a 
disposition  to  approve  of  de  pastoh's  plan." 

"  Yes,  yes,  indeed,"  was  echoed  on  all  sides. 

"  Well,  den   I  will  jes'  tek  occasion  to  say 

fu'thah  dat  I  already  has  de  'possums,  fo'  of  de 

fattes'  animals  I   reckon   you  evah   seen  in  all 

yo'  bo'n  days,  an'  I 's  gwine  to  tu'n  'em  ovah  to 

126 


MT.  PISGAH'S  CHRISTMAS  'POSSUM 

Brothah   Jabez   Holly  to  tek  keer  of  dem   an' 
fatten  'em  wuss  ag'in  de  happy  day." 

The  eyes  of  Jabez  Holly  shone  with  pride 
at  the  importance  of  the  commission  assigned  to 
him.  He  showed  his  teeth  in  a  broad  smile  as 
he  whispered  to  his  neighbour,  'Lishy  Davis, 
"  I  'low  when  I  gits  thoo  wif  dem  'possums  dey 
won't  be  able  to  waddle ;  "  and  'Lishy  slapped 
his  knee  and  bent  double  with  appreciation.  It 
was  a  happy  and  excited  congregation  that  filed 
out  of  Mt.  Pisgah  church  that  Sunday  morning^ 
and  how  they  chattered !  Little  knots  and 
clusters  of  them,  with  their  heads  together  in 
deep  converse,  were  gathered  all  about,  and  all 
the  talk  was  of  the  coming  dinner.  This,  as 
has  already  been  said,  was  the  Sunday  two  weeks 
before  Christmas.  On  the  Sunday  following, 
the  shrewd,  not  to  say  wily,  Mr.  Johnson  de 
livered  a  stirring  sermon  from  the  text,  "He 
prepareth  a  table  before  me  in  the  presence  of 
mine  enemies,"  and  not  one  of  his  hearers  but 
pictured  the  Psalmist  and  his  brethren  sitting  at 
a  'possum  feast  with  the  congregation  of  a  rival 
church  looking  enviously  on.  After  the  service 
that  day,  even  the  minister  sank  into  insigni 
ficance  beside  his  steward,  Jabez  Holly,  the 
127 


FOLKS    FROM    DIXIE 

custodian  of  the  'possums.  He  was  the  most 
sought  man  on  the  ground. 

"  How  dem  'possums  comin'  on  ?  "  asked  one. 

"  Comin'  on  !  "  replied  Jabez.  "  '  Comin'  on  ' 
ain't  no  name  fu'  it.  Why,  I  tell  you,  dem 
animals  is  jes'  a-waddlin'  a'ready." 

"  O-o-mm  !  "  groaned  a  hearer,  "  Chris'mus 
do  seem  slow  a-comin'  dis  yeah." 

"  Why,  man,"  Jabez  went  on,  "  it  'u'd  mek 
you  downright  hongry  to  see  one  o'  dem  critters. 
Evah  time  I  looks  at  'em  I  kin  jes'  see  de  grease 
a-drippin'  in  de  pan,  an'  dat  skin  all  brown  an' 
crispy,  an'  de  smell  a-risin'  up  — " 

"  Heish  up,  man !  "  exclaimed  the  other ;  "  ef 
you  don't,  I  '11  drap  daid  befo'  de  time  comes." 

"  Huh-uh  !  no,  you  won't ;  you  know  dat  day  's 
wuf  livin'  fu'.  Brothah  Jackson,  how  'd  yo' 
crap  o'  sweet  pertaters  tu'n  out  dis  yeah  ?  " 

"  Fine,  fine  !  I 's  got  dem  mos'  plenteous  in 
my  cellah." 

"  Well,  don't  eat  em  too  fas'  in  de  nex'  week, 
'ca'se  we  'spects  to  call  on  you  fu'  some  o'  yo' 
bes'.  You  know  dem  big  sweet  pertaters  cut  right 
in  two  and  laid  all  erroun'  de  pan  teks  up  lots  of 
de  riches'  grease  when  ol'  Mistah  'Possum  git 
too  wa'm  in  de  oven  an'  git  to  sweatin'  it  out." 
128 


MT.  PISGAH'S  CHRISTMAS  'POSSUM 

"  Have  mercy  !  "  exclaimed  the  impression 
able  one.  "I  know  ef  I  don't  git  erway  f'om 
dis  chu'ch  do'  right  now,  I  '11  be  foun'  hyeah  on 
Chris'mus  day  wif  my  mouf  wide  open." 

But  he  did  not  stay  there  until  Christmas 
morning,  though  he  arrived  on  that  momentous 
day  bright  and  early  like  most  of  the  rest.  Half 
the  women  of  the  church  had  volunteered  to  help 
cook  the  feast,  and  the  other  half  were  there  to 
see  it  done  right ;  so  by  the  time  for  operations 
to  commence,  nearly  all  of  Mt.  Pisgah's  congre 
gation  was  assembled  within  its  chapel  walls. 
And  what  laughing  and  joking  there  was! 

"  O-omph !  "  exclaimed  Sister  Green,  "  I  see 
Brothah  Bill  Jones'  mouf  is  jes'  sot  fu'  'possum 
now." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Sis'  Green  ;  hit  jes'  de  same 's  a 
trap  an'  gwine  to  spring  ez  soon  ez  dey  any 
'possum  in  sight." 

"  Hyah,  hyah,  you  ain't  de  on'iest  one  in  dat 
fix,  Brothah  Jones  ;  I  see  some  mo'  people  roun' 
hyeah  lookin'  mighty  'spectious." 

"  Yes,  an'  I 's  one  of  'em,"  said  some  one 
else.  "  I  do  wish  Jabez  Holly  'ud  come  on, 
my  mouf's  jest  p'intly  worterin'." 

"Let's  sen'  a  c'mittee  aftah  him,  dat '11  be 
9  129 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

a  joke."  This  idea  was  taken  up,  and  with 
much  merriment  the  committee  was  despatched 
to  find  and  bring  in  the  delinquent  Jabez. 

Every  one  who  has  ever  cooked  a  'possum  — 
and  who  has  not  ?  —  knows  that  the  animal  must 
be  killed  the  day  before  and  hung  out  of  doors 
over  night  to  freeze  "  de  wil'  tas'e  outen  him." 
This  duty  had  been  intrusted  to  Jabez,  and 
shouts  of  joy  went  up  from  the  assembled 
people  when  he  appeared,  followed  by  the  com 
mittee  and  bearing  a  bag  on  his  shoulder.  He 
set  the  bag  on  the  floor,  and  as  the  crowd 
closed  round  him,  he  put  his  arm  far  down 
into  it,  and  drew  forth  by  the  tail  a  beautiful 
white  fat  cleaned  'possum. 

"  O-om,  jes'  look  at  dat !  Ain't  dat  a  possum 
fu'  you  ?  Go  on,  Brothah  Jabez,  let 's  see  an- 
othah."  Jabez  hesitated. 

"  Dat 's  one  'possum  dah,  ain't  it  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  on,  let  's  see  de  res'." 
Those  on  the  inside  of  the  circle  were  looking 
hard  at  Jabez. 

"  Now,  dat 's  one  'possum,"  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,  yes,  co'se  it  is."  There  was  breath 
less  expectancy. 

"  Well,  dat 's  all  dey  is." 
130 


"I    SEE    POSSUM    GREASE    OX    YOU*    MOUF." 


MT.  PISGAH'S  CHRISTMAS  'POSSUM 

The  statement  fell  like  a  thunder-clap.  No 
one  found  voice  till  the  Reverend  Isaiah  John 
son  broke  in  with,  "Wha',  what  dat  you  say, 
Jabez  Holly?" 

"  I  say  dat 's  all  de  'possum  dey  is,  dat 's  what 
I  say." 

"  Whah  's  dem  othah  'possums,  huh  !  whah  's 
de  res'?" 

"  I  put  'em  out  to  freeze  las'  night,  an'  de 
dogs  got  'em." 

A  groan  went  up  from  the  disappointed  souls 
of  Mt.  Pisgah.  But  the  minister  went  on : 
"  Whah  'd  you  hang  dem  ?  " 

"  Up  ag'in  de  side  o'  de  house." 

"  How  'd  de  dogs  git  'em  dah  ?  " 

"  Mebbe  it  mout  'a'  been  cats." 

"  Why  did  n't  dey  git  dat  un  ?  " 

"  Why,  why  —  'ca'se  —  'ca'se —  Oh,  don't 
questun  me,  man.  I  want  you  to  know  dat  I 's 
a  honer'ble  man." 

"  Jabez  Holly,"  said  the  minister,  impressively, 
"  don't  lie  hyeah  in  de  sanctua'y.  I  see  'possum 
grease  on  yo'  mouf." 

Jabez  unconsciously  gave  his  lips  a  wipe  with 
his  sleeve.  "On  my  mouf,  on  my  mouf!"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Don't  you  say  you  see  no  'possum 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

grease  on  my  mouf!  I  mek  you  prove  it.  I  *s 
a  honer'ble  man,  I  is.  Don't  you  'cuse  me  of 
nuffin' !  " 

Murmurs  had  begun  to  arise  from  the  crowd, 
and  they  had  begun  to  press  in  upon  the  accused. 

"  Don't  crowd  me  !  "  he  cried,  his  eyes  bulg 
ing,  for  he  saw  in  the  faces  about  him  the  energy 
of  attack  which  should  have  been  directed  against 
the  'possum  all  turned  upon  him.  "  I  did  n't  eat 
yo'  ol'  'possum,  I  do'  lak  'possum  nohow." 

"  Hang  him,"  said  some  one,  and  the  murmur 
rose  louder  as  the  culprit  began  to  be  hustled. 
But  the  preacher's  voice  rose  above  the  storm. 

"  Ca'm  yo'se'ves,  my  brethren,"  he  said  ;  "  let 
us  thank  de  Lawd  dat  one  'possum  remains  unto 
us.  Brothah  Holly  has  been  put  undah  a  gret 
temptation,  an'  we  believe  dat  he  has  fell ;  but  it 
is  a  jedgment.  I  ought  to  knowed  bettah  dan 
to  'a'  trusted  any  colo'ed  man  wif  fo'  'possums. 
Let  us  not  be  ha'd  upon  de  sinnah.  We  mus' 
not  be  violent,  but  I  tu'ns  dis  assembly  into  a 
chu'ch  meetin'  of  de  brothahs  to  set  on  Brothah 
Holly's  case.  In  de  mean  time  de  sistahs  will 
prepah  de  remainin'  'possum." 

The  church-meeting  promptly  found  Brother 
Holly  guilty  of  having  betrayed  his  trust,  and 
132 


MT.  PISGAH'S  CHRISTMAS  'POSSUM 

expelled  him   in   disgrace  from  fellowship  with 
Mt.   Pisgah  church. 

The  excellence  of  the  one  'possum  which  the 
women  prepared  only  fed  their  angry  feelings,  as 
it  suggested  what  the  whole  four  would  have 
been  ;  but  the  hungry  men,  women,  and  children 
who  had  foregone  their  Christmas  dinners  at 
home  ate  as  cheerfully  as  possible,  and  when 
Mt.  Pisgah's  congregation  went  home  that  day, 
salt  pork  was  in  great  demand  to  fill  out  the  void 
left  by  the  meagre  fare  of  Christmas  'possum. 


133 


A   FAMILY 
FEUD 


135 


01. 1)    AUNT    DOSHY. 


A  FAMILY   FEUD 

I  WISH  I  could  tell  you  the  story  as  I  heard  it 
from  the  lips  of  the  old  black  woman  as  she  sat 
bobbing  her  turbaned  head  to  and  fro  with  the 
motion  of  her  creaky  little  rocking-chair,  and 
droning  the  tale  forth  in  the  mellow  voice  of 
her  race.  So  much  of  the  charm  of  the  stoiy 
was  in  that  voice,  which  even  the  cares  of 
age  had  not  hardened. 

It  was  a  sunny  afternoon  in  late  November, 
one  of  those  days  that  come  like  a  backward 
glance  from  a  reluctantly  departing  summer. 
I  had  taken  advantage  of  the  warmth  and  bright 
ness  to  go  up  and  sit  with  old  Aunt  Doshy 
on  the  little  porch  that  fronted  her  cottage. 
The  old  woman  had  been  a  trusted  house-ser 
vant  in  one  of  the  wealthiest  of  the  old  Ken 
tucky  families,  and  a  visit  to  her  never  failed 
to  elicit  some  reminiscence  of  the  interesting 
past.  Aunt  Doshy  was  inordinately  proud  of 
her  family,  as  she  designated  the  Venables,  and 
137 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

was  never  weary  of  detailing  accounts  of  their 
grandeur  and  generosity.  What  if  some  of  the 
harshness  of  reality  was  softened  by  the  dis 
tance  through  which  she  looked  back  upon 
them  ;  what  if  the  glamour  of  memory  did  put 
a  halo  round  the  heads  of  some  people  who  were 
never  meant  to  be  canonised  ?  It  was  all  plain 
fact  to  Aunt  Doshy,  and  it  was  good  to  hear  her 
talk.  That  day  she  began  :  — 

"  I  reckon  I  hain't  never  tol'  you  'bout  ole 
Mas'  an'  young  Mas'  fallin'  out,  has  I  ?  Hit 's 
all  over  now,  an'  things  is  done  change  so  dat 
I  reckon  eben  ef  ole  Mas'  was  libin',  he  would  n't 
keer  ef  I  tol',  an'  I  knows  young  Mas'  Tho'nton 
would  n't.  Dey  ain't  nuffin'  to  hide  'bout  it  no 
how,  'ca'se  all  quality  families  has  de  same  kin' 
o'  'spectable  fusses. 

"  Hit  all  happened  'long  o'  dem  Jamiesons 
whut  libed  jinin'  places  to  our  people,  an'  whut 
ole  Mas'  ain't  spoke  to  fu'  nigh  onto  thutty 
years.  Long  while  ago,  when  Mas'  Tom  Jamie- 
son  an'  Mas'  Jack  Venable  was  bofe  young  mans, 
dey  had  a  qua'l  'bout  de  young  lady  dey  bofe  was 
a-cou'tin',  an'  by-an'-by  dey  had  a  du'l  an'  Mas' 
Jamieson  shot  Mas'  Jack  in  de  shouldah,  but 
Mas'  Jack  ma'ied  de  lady,  so  dey  was  eben. 
138 


A   FAMILY   FEUD 

Mas'  Jamieson  ma'ied  too,  an'  after  so  many 
years  dey  was  bofe  wid'ers,  but  dey  ain't  fu'give 
one  another  yit.  When  Mas'  Tho'nton  was  hie 

J  O 

enough  to  run  erroun',  ole  Mas'  used  to  try 
to  'press  on  him  dat  a  Venable  mus'  n'  never 
put  his  foot  on  de  Jamieson  Ian' ;  an'  many 
a  tongue-lashin'  an'  sometimes  wuss  de  han's  on 
our  place  got  fu'  mixin'  wif  de  Jamieson  ser 
vants.  But,  la !  young  Mas'  Tho'nton  was 
wuss  'n  de  niggers.  Evah  time  he  got  a  chance 
he  was  out  an'  gone,  over  lots  an'  fiel's  an' 
into  de  Jamieson  ya'd  a-playin'  wif  little  Miss 
Nellie,  whut  was  Mas'  Tom's  little  gal.  I 
never  did  see  two  chillun  so  'tached  to  one 
another.  Dey  used  to  wander  erroun',  han'  in 
han',  lak  brother  an'  sister,  an'  dey  'd  cry  lak 
dey  little  hea'ts  'u'd  brek  ef  either  one  of  dey 
pappys  seed  'em  an'  pa'ted  'em. 

"  I  'member  once  when  de  young  Mastah  was 
erbout  eight  year  ole,  he  was  a-settin'  at  de 
table  one  mo'nin'  eatin'  wif  his  pappy,  when  all 
of  er  sudden  he  pause  an'  say,  jes'  ez  solerm-lak, 
1  When  I  gits  big,  I  gwine  to  ma'y  Nellie.' 
His  pappy  jump  lak  he  was  shot,  an'  tu'n  right 
pale,  den  he  say  kin'  o'  slow  an'  gaspy-lak, 
4  Don't  evah  let  me  hyeah  you  say  sich  a  thing 


FOLKS    FROM    DIXIE 

ergin,  Tho'nton  Venable.  Why,  boy,  I  'd  raver 
let  evah  drap  o'  blood  outen  you,  dan  to  see  a 
Venable  cross  his  blood  wif  a  Jamieson.' 

"  I  was  jes'  a-bringin'  in  de  cakes  whut  Mas- 
tah  was  pow'ful  fon'  of,  an'  I  could  see  bofe  dey 
faces.  But,  la  !  honey,  dat  chile  did  n't  look  a 
bit  skeered.  He  jes'  sot  dah  lookin'  in  his 
pappy's  face,  —  he  was  de  spittin'  image  of  him, 
all  'cept  his  eyes,  dey  was  his  mother's,  —  den  he 
say,  4  Why,  Nellie 's  nice,'  an'  went  on  eatin' 
a  aig.  His  pappy  laid  his  napkin  down  an'  got 
up  an'  went  erway  f  'om  de  table.  Mas'  Tho'n 
ton  say,  4  Why,  father  did  n't  eat  his  cakes.' 
'  I  reckon  yo'  pa  ain't  well,'  says  I,  fu'  I 
knowed  de  chile  was  innercent. 

"  Well,  after  dat  day,  ole  Mas'  tuk  extry  pains 
to  keep  de  chillun  apa't  —  but  'twa'n't  no  use. 
'T  ain't  never  no  use  in  a  case  lak  dat.  Dey  jes' 
would  be  together,  an'  ez  de  boy  got  older,  it 
seemed  to  grieve  his  pappy  mighty.  I  reckon 
he  did  n't  lak  to  jes'  fu'bid  him  seein'  Miss 
Nellie,  fu'  he  know  how  haidstrong  Mas'  Tho'n 
ton  was,  anyhow.  So  things  kep'  on  dis  way,  an' 
de  boy  got  handsomer  evah  day.  My,  but  his 
pappy  did  set  a  lot  o'  sto'  by  him.  Dey  was  n't 
nuffin'  dat  boy  eben  wished  fu'  dat  his  pappy 
140 


A   FAMILY   FEUD 

did  n't  gin  him.  Seemed  lak  he  fa'ly  wus- 
shipped  him.  He  'd  jes'  watch  him  ez  he  went 
erroun'  de  house  lak  he  was  a  baby  yit.  So  hit 
mus'  'a'  been  putty  ha'd  wif  Mas'  Jack  when 
hit  come  time  to  sen'  Mas'  Tho'nton  off  to 
college.  But  he  never  showed  it.  He  seed 
him  off  wif  a  cheerful  face,  an'  nobidy  would  'a' 
ever  guessed  dat  it  hu't  him ;  but  dat  afternoon 
he  shet  hisse'f  up  an'  hit  was  th'ee  days  befo' 
anybody  'cept  me  seed  him,  an'  nobidy  'cept 
me  knowed  how  his  vittels  come  back  not 
teched.  But  after  de  fus'  letter  come,  he  got 
better.  I  hyeahd  him  a-laffin'  to  hisse'f  ez  he 
read  it,  an'  dat  day  he  et  his  dinner. 

"  Well,  honey,  dey  ain't  no  tellin'  whut  Mas' 
Jack's  plans  was,  an'  hit  ain't  fu'  me  to  try  an' 
guess  'em ;  but  ef  he  had  sont  Mas'  Tho'nton 
erway  to  brek  him  off  Pom  Miss  Nellie,  he 
mout  ez  well  'a'  let  him  stayed  at  home  ;  fu' 
Jamieson's  Sal  whut  nussed  Miss  Nellie  toF  me 
dat  huh  mistis  got  a  letter  Pom  Mas'  Tho'nton 
evah  day  er  so.  An'  when  he  was  home  fu' 
holidays,  you  never  seed  nuffin'  lak  it.  Hit  was 
jes'  walkin'  er  ridin'  er  dribin'  wif  dat  young 
lady  evah  day  of  his  life.  An'  dey  did  look  so 
sweet  together  dat  it  seemed  a  shame  to  pa't  'em 
141 


FOLKS    FROM    DIXIE 

—  him  wif  his  big  brown  eyes  an'  soP  curly 
hair  an'  huh  all  white  an'  gentle  lak  a  little 
dove.  But  de  ole  Mas'  could  n't  see  hit  dat 
erway,  an'  I  knowed  dat  hit  was  a-troublin'  him 
mighty  bad.  Ez  well  ez  he  loved  his  son,  hit 
allus  seemed  lak  he  was  glad  when  de  holidays 
was  over  an'  de  boy  was  back  at  college. 

"  Endurin'  de  las'  year  dat  de  young  Mastah 
was  to  be  erway,  his  pappy  seemed  lak  he  was 
jes'  too  happy  an'  res'less  fu'  anything.  He 
was  dat  proud  of  his  son,  he  did  n't  know  whut 
to  do.  He  was  allus  tellin'  visitors  dat  come  to 
de  house  erbout  him,  how  he  was  a  'markable 
boy  an'  was  a-gwine  to  be  a  honour  to  his  name. 
An'  when  'long  to'ds  de  ve'y  end  of  de  term,  a 
letter  come  sayin'  dat  Mas'  Tho'nton  had  done 
tuk  some  big  honour  at  dc  college,  I  jes'  thought 
sho  Mas'  Jack  'u'd  plum  bus'  hisse'f,  he  was  so 
proud  an'  tickled.  I  hyeahd  him  talkin'  to  his 
ole  frien'  Cunnel  Mandrey  an'  mekin'  great 
plans  'bout  whut  he  gwine  to  do  when  his  son 
come  home.  He  gwine  tek  him  trav'lin'  fus' 
in  Eur'p,  so  's  to  'finish  him  lak  a  Venable  ought 
to  be  finished  by  seein'  somep'n'  of  de  worF  — ' 
dem  's  his  ve'y  words.  Den  he  was  a-gwine  to 
come  home  an'  'model  de  house  an'  fit  it  up, 
142 


A    FAMILY   FEUD 

<fu" —  I  never  shell  fu'git  how  he  said  it, — <fu' 
I  'spec'  my  son  to  tek  a  high  place  in  de  society 
of  ole  Kintucky  an'  to  mo'  dan  surstain  de  repu 
tation  of  de  Venables.'  Den  when  de  las'  day 
come  an'  young  Mastah  was  home  fu'  sho,  so 
fine  an'  clever  lookin'  wif  his  new  mustache  — 
sich  times  ez  dey  was  erbout  dat  house  nobidy 
never  seed  befo'.  All  de  frien's  an'  neighbours, 
'scusin',  o'  co'se,  de  Jamiesons,  was  invited  to 
a  big  dinner  dat  lasted  fu'  hours.  Dey  was 
speeches  by  de  gent' men,  an'  evahbidy  drinked 
de  graderate's  health  an'  wished  him  good  luck. 
But  all  de  time  I  could  see  dat  Mas'  Tho'nton 
was  n't  happy,  dough  he  was  smilin'  an'  mekin' 
merry  wif  evahbidy.  It  'pressed  me  so  dat  I 
spoke  erbout  hit  to  Aunt  Emmerline.  Aunt 
Emmerline  was  Mas'  Tho'nton's  mammy,  an' 
sence  he  'd  growed  up,  she  did  n't  do  much  but 
he'p  erroun'  de  house  a  little. 

11 1  You  don'  mean  to  tell  me  dat  you  noticed 
dat  too  ? '  says  she  when  I  toP  huh  erbout  it. 

"'Yes,  I  did,'  says  I,  can'  I  noticed  hit 
strong.' 

"  '  Dey 's  somep'n'  ain't  gwine  right  wif  my 
po'  chile,'  she  say, 4  an'  dey  ain't  no  tellin'  whut 
it  is.' 

143 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

"  l  Hain't  you  got  no  idee,  Aunt  Emmerline  ? ' 
I  say. 

"  c  La !  chile,'  she  say  in  a  way  dat  mek  me 
think  she  keepin'  somep'n'  back,  'la!  chile, 
don'  you  know  young  mans  don'  come  to  dey 
mammys  wif  dey  secuts  lak  dey  do  when  dey  's 
babies  ?  How  I  gwine  to  know  whut  's  pes- 
terin'  Mas'  Tho'nton  ?  ' 

"  Den  I  knowed  she  was  hidin'  somep'n',  an' 
jes'  to  let  huh  know  dat  I  'd  been  had  my  eyes 
open  too,  I  say  slow  an'  'pressive  lak,  '  Aunt 
Emmerline,  don'  you  reckon  hit  Miss  Nellie 
Jamieson  ?  '  She  jumped  lak  she  was  skeered, 
an'  looked  at  me  right  ha'd  ;  den  she  say,  '  I 
ain'  reck'nin'  nuffin'  'bout  de  white  folks'  bus'- 
ness.'  An'  she  pinched  huh  mouf  up  right 
tight,  an'  I  could  n't  git  another  word  outen  huh ; 
but  I  knowed  dat  I  'd  hit  huh  jes'  erbout  right. 

"One  mo'nin'  erbout  a  week  after  de  big 
dinner,  jes'  ez  dey  was  eatin',  Mas'  Tho'nton 
say,  c  Father,  I  'd  lak  to  see  you  in  de  liberry  ez 
soon  ez  you  has  de  time.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  'bout  somep'n'  ve'y  impo'tant.'  De  ole 
man  look  up  right  quick  an'  sha'p,  but  he  say 
ve'y  quiet  lak,  '  Ve'y  well,  my  son,  ve'y  well ; 
I 's  at  yo'  service  at  once.' 
144 


A   FAMILY   FEUD 

"  Dey  went  into  de  liberry,  an'  Mas'  Tho'n- 
ton  shet  de  do'  behin'  him.  I  could  hyeah  dem 
talkin'  kin'  o'  low  while  I  was  cl'arin'  erway  de 
dishes.  After  while  dey  'menced  to  talk  louder. 
I  had  to  go  out  an'  dus'  de  hall  den  near  de 
liberry  do',  an'  once  I  hyeahd  ole  Mas'  say  right 
sho't  an'  sha'p,  'Never  ! '  Den  young  Mas'  he 
say,  i  But.  evah  man  has  de  right  to  choose  fu' 
his  own  se'f.' 

"'  Man,  man  !  '  I  hyeahd  his  pappy  say  in  a 
way  I  had  never  hyeahd  him  use  to  his  son 
befo',  '  evah  male  bein'  dat  wahs  men's  clothes 
an'  has  a  mustache  ain't  a  man.' 

" l  Man  er  whut  not,'  po'  young  Mastah's 
voice  was  a-tremblin',  c  I  am  at  leas'  my  father's 
son  an'  I  deserve  better  dan  dis  at  his  han's.' 
I  hyeahd  somebody  a-walkin'  de  flo',  an'  I  was 
feared  dey  'd  come  out  an'  think  dat  I  was  a-list- 
enin',  so  I  dus'es  on  furder  down  de  hall,  an' 
did  n't  hyeah  no  mo'  ontwell  Mas'  Tho'nton 
come  hurryin'  out  an'  say,  '  Ike,  saddle  my 
hoss.'  He  was  ez  pale  ez  he  could  be,  an' 
when  he  spoke  sho't  an'  rough  lak  dat,  he  was 
so  much  lak  his  father  dat  hit  skeered  me.  Ez 
soon  ez  his  hoss  was  ready,  he  jumped  into  de 
saddle  an'  went  flyin'  outen  de  ya'd  lak  mad, 
10  I45 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

never  eben  lookin'  back  at  de  house.  I  did  n't 
see  Mas'  Jack  fu'  de  res'  of  de  day,  an'  he  did  n't 
come  in  to  suppah.  But  I  seed  Aunt  Emmerline 
an'  I  knowed  dat  she  had  been  somewhah  an' 
knowed  ez  much  ez  I  did  erbout  whut  was 
gwine  on,  but  I  never  broached  a  word  erbout 
hit  to  huh.  I  seed  she  was  oneasy,  but  I  kep' 
still  'twell  she  say,  '  Whut  you  reckon  keepin' 
Mas'  Tho'nton  out  so  late  ? '  Den  I  jes  say, 
4 1  ain't  reck'nin'  'bout  de  white  folks'  bus'ness/ 
She  looked  a  little  bit  cut  at  fus',  den  she  jes'  go 
on  lak  nuffin'  had  n't  happened  :  c  I 's  mighty 
'sturbed  'bout  young  Mas';  he  never  stays  erway 
f 'om  suppah  'dout  sayin'  somep'n'.' 

"  '  Oh,  I  reckon  he  kin  fin'  suppah  somewhah 
else.'  I  says  dis  don't  keer  lak  jes'  fu'  to  lead 
huh  on. 

" 1 1  ain't  so  much  pestered  'bout  his  suppah,' 
she  say ;  c  I 's  feared  he  gwine  do  somep'n'  he 
had  n't  ought  to  do  after  dat  qua'l  'twixt  him  an' 
his  pappy.' 

" c  Did  dey  have  a  qua'l  ?  '  says  I. 

" c  G'  long ! '  Aunt  Emmerline  say, c  you  was  n't 

dus'in'  one  place  in  de  hall  so  long  fu'  nuffin'. 

You  knows  an'  I  knows  eben  ef  we  don't  talk 

a    heap.       I 's    troubled    myse'f.      Hit  jes'    in 

146 


A   FAMILY   FEUD 

dat  Venable  blood  to  go  right  straight  an'  git 
Miss  Nellie  an'  ma'y  huh  right  erway,  an'  ef  he 
do  it,  I  p'intly  know  his  pa  '11  never  fu'give 
him.'  Den  Aunt  Emmerline  'mence  to  cry, 
an'  I  feel  right  sorry  fu'  huh,  'ca'se  Mas' 
Tho'nton  huh  boy,  an'  she  think  a  mighty 
heap  o'  him. 

"  Well,  we  had  n't  had  time  to  say  much  mo' 
when  we  hyeahd  a  hoss  gallopin'  into  de  ya'd. 
Aunt  Emmerline  jes'  say, '  Dat's  Gineral's  lope ! ' 
an'  she  bus'  outen  de  do'.  I  waits,  'spectin'  huh 
to  come  back  an'  say  dat  Mas'  Tho'nton  done 
come  at  las'.  But  after  while  she  come  in  wif 
a  mighty  long  face  an'  say,  '  Hit 's  one  o'  Jamie- 
son's  darkies  ;  he  brung  de  hoss  back  an'  a  note 
Mas'  gin  him  fu'  his  pappy.  Mas'  Tho'nton 
done  gone  to  Lexin'ton  wif  Miss  Nellie  an'  got 
ma'ied.'  Den  she  jes'  brek  down  an'  'mence 
a-cryin'  ergin  an'  a-rockin'  huhse'f  back  an  fofe 
an'  sayin', '  Oh,  my  po'  chile,  my  po'  boy,  whut  's 
to  'come  o'  you  !  ' 

"  I  went  upstairs  an'  lef '  huh  —  we  bofe  stayed 
at  de  big  house  — but  I  did  n't  sleep  much,  'ca'se 
all  thoo  de  night  I  could  hyeah  ole  Mas' 
a-walkin'  back  an'  fofe  ercross  his  flo',  an'  when 
Aunt  Emmerline  come  up  to  baid,  she  mou'ned 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

all  night,  eben  in  huh  sleep.  I  tell  you,  honey, 
dem  was  mou'nin'  times. 

"  Nex'  mo'nin'  when  ole  Mas'  come  down  to 
brekfus',  he  looked  lak  he  done  had  a  long  spell 
o'  sickness.  But  he  was  n't  no  man  to  'spose  his 
feelin's.  He  never  let  on,  never  eben  spoke 
erbout  Mas'  Tho'nton  bein'  erway  f 'om  de  table. 
He  did  n't  eat  much,  an'  fin'ly  I  see  him  look 
right  long  an'  stiddy  at  de  place  whah  Mas' 
Tho'nton  used  to  set  an'  den  git  up  an'  go  'way 
f 'om  de  table.  I  knowed  dat  he  was  done  filled 
up.  I  went  to  de  liberry  do'  an'  I  could  hyeah 
him  sobbin'  lak  a  chile.  I  tol'  Aunt  Emmerline 
'bout  it,  but  she  jes'  shuck  huh  haid  an'  did  n't 
say  nuffin'  a'-tall. 

"  Well,  hit  went  dis  erway  fu'  'bout  a  week. 
Mas'  Jack  was  gittin'  paler  an'  paler  evah  day, 
an'  hit  jes'  'menced  to  come  to  my  min'  how  ole 
he  was.  One  day  Aunt  Emmerline  say  she 
gwine  erway,  an'  she  mek  Jim  hitch  up  de 
spring  wagon  an'  she  dribe  on  erway  by  huhse'f. 
Co'se,  now,  Aunt  Emmerline  she  do  putty  much 
ez  she  please,  so  I  don't  think  nuffin'  'bout  hit. 
When  she  come  back, 'long  to'ds  ebenin',  I  say, 
4  Aunt  Emmerline,  whah  you  been  all  day  ? ' 

"  l  Nemmine,  honey,  you  see,'  she  say,  an' 
148 


A    FAMILY   FEUD 

laff.  Well,  I  ain't  seed  nobidy  laff  fu'  so  long 
dat  hit  jes  mek  me  feel  right  wa'm  erroun'  my 
hea't,  an'  I  laff  an'  keep  on  laffin'  jes'  at  nuffin'. 

"  Nex'  mo'nin'  Aunt  Emmerline  mighty  on- 
easy,  an'  I  don'  know  whut  de  matter  ontwell  I 
hyeah  some  un  say, '  Tek  dat  hoss,  Ike,  an'  feed 
him,  but  keep  de  saddle  on.'  Aunt  Emmerline  jes' 
fa'ly  fall  out  de  do'  an'  I  lak  to  drap,  'ca'se  hit 's 
Mas'  Tho'nton's  voice.  In  a  minute  he  come 
to  me  an'  say,  c  Doshy,  go  tell  my  father  I  'd 
lak  to  speak  to  him.' 

"  I  don'  skeercely  know  how  I  foun'  my  way 
to  de  liberry,  but  I  did.  Ole  Mas'  was  a-settin' 
dah  wif  a  open  book  in  his  han',  but  his  eyes 
was  jes'  a-starin'  at  de  wall,  an'  I  knowed  he 
wasn't  a-readin'.  I  say,  'Mas'  Jack,'  an'  he 
sta't  jes'  lak  he  rousin'  up,  '  Mas'  Jack,  Mas' 
Tho'nton  want  to  speak  to  you.'  He  jump  up 
quick,  an'  de  book  fall  on  de  flo',  but  he  grab  a 
cheer  an'  stiddy  hisse'f.  I  done  tol'  you  Mas' 
Jack  was  n't  no  man  to  'spose  his  feelin's.  He 
jes'  say,  slow  lak  he  hol'in'  hisse'f,  l  Sen'  him 
in  hyeah.'  I  goes  back  an'  'livers  de  message, 
den  I  flies  roun'  to  de  po'ch  whah  de  liberry 
winder  opens  out,  'ca'se,  I  ain't  gwine  lie  erbout 
it,  I  was  mighty  tuk  up  wif  all  dis  gwine  on 
149 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

an'  I  wanted  to  see  an'  hyeah,  —  an'  who  you 
reckon  'roun'  dah  but  Aunt  Emmerline  !  She 
jes'  say,  l  S-sh  ! '  ez  I  come  'roun',  an'  clas'  huh 
han's.  In  a  minute  er  so,  de  liberry  do'  open 
an'  Mas'  Tho'nton  come  in.  He  shet  hit 
behin'  him,  an'  den  stood  lookin'  at  his  pa,  dat 
ain't  never  tu'ned  erroun'  yit.  Den  he  say  sof ', 
'  Father.'  Mas'  Jack  tu'ned  erroun'  raal  slow 
an'  look  at  his  son  fu'  a  while.  Den  he  say, 

I  Do  you  still  honour  me  wif  dat  name  ? '   Mas' 
Tho'nton  got  red  in   de   face,   but   he  answer, 

I 1  don'  know  no  other  name  to  call  you.' 

" '  Will  you  set  down  ?  '  Mas'  speak  jes' 
lak  he  was  a-talkin'  to  a  stranger. 

"  '  Ef  you  desiah  me  to.'  I  see  Mas'  Tho'nton 
was  a-bridlin'  up  too.  Mas'  jes'  th'owed  back 
his  haid  an'  say,  c  Fa'  be  it  f  'om  any  Venable  to 
fu'git  cou'tesy  to  his  gues'.'  Young  Mas'  moved 
erway  f 'om  de  cheer  whah  he  was  a-gwine  to 
set,  an'  his  haid  went  up.  He  spoke  up  slow 
an'  delibut,  jes'  lak  his  pa,  1 1  do  not  come,  suh, 
in  dat  cha'acter,  I  is  hyeah  ez  yo'  son.' 

"  Well,  ole  Mas'  eyes  fa'ly  snapped  fiah.  He 
was  white  ez  a  sheet,  but  he  still  spoke  slow 
an'  quiet,  hit  made  me  creep,  l  You  air  late  in 
'memberin'  yo'  relationship,  suh.' 


A   FAMILY   FEUD 

"  '  I  hab  never  fu'got  it.' 

"'Den,  suh,  you  have  thought  mo'  of  yo' 
rights  dan  of  yo'  duties.'  Mas'  Jack  was  mad 
an'  so  was  Mas'  Tho'nton  ;  he  say,  c  I  did  n't 
come  hyeah  to  'scuss  dat.'  An'  he  tu'ned  to'ds 
de  do'.  I  hyeah  Aunt  Emmerline  groan  jes'  ez 
Mas'  say,  '  Well,  whut  did  you  come  fu'  ? ' 

" l  To  be  insulted  in  my  father's  house  by  my 
father,  an'  I 's  got  all  dat  I  come  fu' ! '  Mas' 
Tho'nton  was  ez  white  ez  his  pa  now,  an'  his 
han'  was  on  de  do'-knob.  Den  all  of  a  sudden 
I  hyeah  de  winder  go  up,  an'  I  lak  to  fall  over 
gittin'  outen  de  way  to  keep  Pom  bein'  seed. 
Aunt  Emmerline  done  opened  de  winder  an' 
gone  in.  Dey  bofe  tu'ned  an'  looked  at  huh 
s'prised  lak,  an'  Mas'  Jack  sta'ted  to  say 
somep'n',  but  she  th'owed  up  huh  han'  an'  say 
4  Wait ! '  lak  she  owned  de  house.  c  Mas'  Jack,' 
she  say,  'you  an'  Mas'  Tho'nton  ain't  gwine 
pa't  dis  way.  You  mus'  n't.  You  's  father  an' 
son.  You  loves  one  another.  I  knows  I  ain't 
got  no  bus'ness  meddlin'  in  yo'  'fairs,  but  I  cain't 
see  you  all  qua'l  dis  way.  Mastah,  you  's  bofe 
stiffnecked.  You  's  bofe  wrong.  I  know  Mas' 
Tho'nton  did  n't  min'  you,  but  he  did  n't  mean 
no  ha'm  —  he  could  n't  he'p  it  —  it  was  in  de 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

Venable  blood,  an'  you  mus'  n't  'spise  him 
fu'  it.' 

" 4  Emmerline '  —  ole  Mas'  tried  to  git  in  a 
word,  but  she  would  n't  let  him. 

"  lYes,  Mastah,  yes,  but  I  nussed  dat  boy  an' 
tuk  keer  o'  him  when  he  was  a  little  bit  of  a 
he'pless  thing  ;  an'  when  his  po'  mammy  went 
to  glory,  I  'member  how  she  look  up  at  me  wif 
dem  blessed  eyes  o'  hern  an'  lay  him  in  my  arms 
an'  say, "  Emmerline,  tek  keer  o'my  baby."  I 's 
done  it,  Mastah,  I 's  done  it  de  bes'  I  could. 
I 's  nussed  him  thoo  sickness  when  hit  seemed 
lak  his  little  soul  mus'  foller  his  mother  any 
how,  but  I 's  seen  de  look  in  yo'  eyes,  an' 
prayed  to  God  to  gin  de  chile  back  to  you.  He 
done  it,  he  done  it,  an'  you  sha'n't  th'ow  erway 
de  gif'  of  God!'  Aunt  Emmerline  was 
a-cryin'  an'  so  was  Mas'  Tho'nton.  Ole  Mas' 
mighty  red,  but  he  clared  his  th'oat  an'  said  wif 
his  voice  tremblin', 4  Emmerline,  leave  de  room.' 
De  ole  ooman  come  out  a-cryin'  lak  huh  hea't 
'u'd  brek,  an'  jes'  ez  de  do'  shet  behin'  huh,  ole 
Mas'  brek  down  an'  hoi'  out  his  arms,  cryin', 
4  My  son,  my  son.'  An'  in  a  minute  he  an' 
Mas'  Tho'nton  was  a-hoPin'  one  another  lak 
dey  'd  never  let  go,  an'  his  pa  was  a-pattin'  de 


A   FAMILY   FEUD 

boy's  haid  lak  he  was  a  baby.  All  of  a  sudden 
ole  Mas'  heF  him  off  an'  looked  at  him  an'  say, 
4  Dat  ole  fool  talkin'  to  me  erbout  yo'  mother's 
eyes,  an'  you  stannin'  hyeah  a-lookin'  at  me  wif 
'em.'  An'  den  he  was  a-cryin'  ergin,  an'  dey 
was  bofe  huggin'. 

"  Well,  after  while  dey  got  all  settled  down, 
an'  Mas'  Tho'nton  tol'  his  pa  how  Aunt 
Emmerline  drib  to  Lexin'ton  an'  foun'  him 
an'  made  him  come  home.  '  I  was  wrong, 
father,'  he  say,  'but  I  reckon  ef  it  hadn't  'a' 
been  fu'  Aunt  Emmerline,  I  would  'a'  stuck  it 
out.' 

"  l  It  was  in  de  Venable  blood,'  his  pa  say, 
an'  dey  bofe  laff.  Den  ole  Mas'  say,  kin'  o' 
lak  it  hu't  him,  c  An'  whah  's  yo'  wife  ? ' 
Young  Mas'  got  mighty  red  ergin  ez  he 
answer,  '  She  ain't  fu'  erway.' 

" c  Go  bring  huh,'  Mas'  Jack  say. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  Mas'  Tho'nton  lak  to  flew, 
an'  he  had  Miss  Nellie  dah  in  little  er  no  time. 
When  dey  come,  Mas'  he  say,  '  Come  hyeah,' 
den  he  pause  awhile  — l  my  daughter.'  Den 
Miss  Nellie  run  to  him,  an'  dey  was  another 
cryin'  time,  an'  I  went  on  to  my  work  an'  leP 
'em  talkin'  an'  laffin'  an'  cryin.'  „ 
153 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

"  Well,  Aunt  Emmerline  was  skeered  to  def. 
She  jes'  p'intly  knowed  dat  she  was  gwine  to 
git  a  tongue-lashin'.  I  don'  know  whether  she 
was  mos'  skeered  er  mos'  happy.  Mas'  sont 
fu'  huh  after  while,  an'  I  listened  when  she  went 
in.  He  was  try  in'  to  talk  an'  look  pow'ful 
stern,  but  I  seed  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  He  say, 
4 1  want  you  to  know,  Emmerline,  dat  hit  ain't 
yo'  place  to  dictate  to  yo'  mastah  whut  he 
shell  do  —  Shet  up,  shet  up !  I  don'  want 
a  word  outen  you.  You  been  on  dis  place 
so  long,  an'  been  bossin'  de  other  darkies  an' 
yo'  Mas'  Tho'nton  erroun'  so  long,  dat  I  'low 
you  think  you  own  de  place.  Shet  up,  not  a 
word  outen  you !  Ef  you  an'  yo'  young  Mas'  's 
a-gwine  to  run  dis  place,  I  reckon  I  'd  better 
step  out.  Humph!  You  was  so  sma't  to  go 
to  Lexin'ton  de  other  day,  you  kin  go  back  dah 
ergin.  You  seem  to  think  you 's  white,  an' 
hyeah  's  de  money  to  buy  a  new  dress  fu'  de  ole 
fool  darky  dat  nussed  yo'  son  an'  made  you 
fu'give  his  foo'ishness  when  you  wanted  to  be  a 
fool  yo'se'f."  His  voice  was  sof  ergin,  an' 
he  put  de  money  in  Aunt  Emmerline's  han'  an' 
pushed  huh  out  de  do',  huh  a-cryin'  an'  him 
put'  nigh  it. « 


A   FAMILY  FEUD 

"After  dis,  Mas'  Jack  was  jes'  bent  an' 
boun'  dat  de  young  people  mus'  go  on  a 
weddin'  trip.  So  dey  got  ready,  an'  Miss  Nellie 
went  an'  tol'  huh  pa  goo'bye.  Min'  you,  dey 
had  n't  been  nuffin'  said  'bout  him  an'  Mas'  not 
bein'  frien's.  He  done  fu'give  Miss  Nellie 
right  erway  fu'  runnin'  off.  But  de  mo'nin' 
dey  went  erway,  we  all  was  out  in  de  ya'd,  an' 
Aunt  Emmerline  settin'  on  de  seat  wif  Jim, 
lookin'  ez  proud  ez  you  please.  Mastah  was 
ez  happy  ez  a  boy.  'Emmerline,'  he  hollahs 
ez  dey  drib  off,  '  tek  good  keer  o'  dat  Venable 
blood.'  De  ca'iage  stopped  ez  it  went  out  de 
gate,  an'  Mas'  Tom  Jamieson  kissed  his  daugh 
ter.  He  had  rid  up  de  road  to  see  de  las'  of 
huh.  Mastah  seed  him,  an'  all  of  a  sudden 
somep'n'  seemed  to  tek  holt  o'  him  an'  he 
hollahed,  '  Come  in,  Tom.' 

" '  Don'  keer  ef  I  do,'  Mas'  Jamieson  say, 
a-tu'nin'  his  hoss  in  de  gate.  'You  Venables 
has  got  de  res'  o'  my  fambly.'  We  all  was 
mos'  s'prised  to  def. 

"  Mas'  Jamieson  jumped  offen  his  hoss,  an' 
Mas'  Venable  come  down  de  steps  to  meet  him. 
Dey  shuk  han's,  an'  Mas'  Jack  say,  '  Dey  ain't 
no  fool  lak  a  ole  fool.' 
155 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

" l  An'  fu'  unekaled  foo'ishness,'  Mas'  Tom 
say,  'reckermen'  me  to  two  ole  fools.'  Dey 
went  into  de  house  a-laffin',  an'  I  knowed  hit 
was  all  right  'twixt  'em,  fu'  putty  soon  I  seed 
Ike  out  in  de  ya'd  a-getherin'  mint." 


AUNT   MANDY'S 
INVESTMENT 


'57 


AUNT   MANDY'S   INVESTMENT 

THE  Coloured  American  Investment  Company 
was  organised  for  the  encouragement  and  benefit 
of  the  struggling  among  Americans  of  African 
descent ;  at  least,  so  its  constitution  said. 
Though  truth  was,  Mr.  Solomon  Ruggles,  the 
efficient  president  and  treasurer  of  the  institu 
tion,  usually  represented  the  struggling  when 
there  were  any  benefits  to  receive. 

Indeed,  Mr.  Ruggles  was  the  Coloured  Amer 
ican  Investment  Company.  The  people  whom 
he  persuaded  to  put  their  money  into  his  concern 
were  only  accessories.  Though  a  man  of 
slight  education,  he  was  possessed  of  a  liberal 
amount  of  that  shrewd  wit  which  allows  its 
possessor  to  feed  upon  the  credulity  of  others. 

Mr.  Ruggles's  motto  was  "  It  is  better  to  be 
plausible  than  right,"  and  he  lived  up  to  his 
principles  with  a  fidelity  that  would  have  been 
commendable  in  a  better  cause.  He  was  seldom 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

right,  but  he  was  always  plausible.  No  one 
knew  better  than  he  how  to  bring  out  the  good 
point  of  a  bad  article.  He  would  have  sold  you 
a  blind  horse  and  convinced  you  that  he  was 
doing  you  a  favour  in  giving  you  an  animal  that 
would  not  be  frightened  by  anything  he  saw. 
No  one  but  he  could  have  been  in  a  city  so 
short  a  time  and  yet  gained  to  such  an  extent 
the  confidence  and  cash  of  the  people  about 
him. 

When  a  coloured  man  wishes  to  start  a  stock 
company,  he  issues  a  call  and  holds  a  mass  meet 
ing.  This  is  what  Solomon  Ruggles  did.  A 
good  many  came.  Some  spoke  for  and  some 
against  the  movement,  but  the  promoter's 
plausible  argument  carried  the  day. 

"  Gent'men,"  he  said,  "  my  fellow  colo'ed 
brotheren,  I  jest  want  to  say  this  to  you,  that 
we  Af'-Americans  been  ca'yin'  a  leaky  bucket 
to  the  well  too  long.  We  git  the  stream  from 
the  ground,  an'  back  to  the  ground  it  goes  befoah 
we  kin  git  any  chance  to  make  use  o'  what 
we  've  drawed.  But,  not  to  speak  in  meter- 
phers,  this  is  what  I  mean.  I  mean  that  we 
work  for  the  white  folks  for  their  money.  All 
they  keer  about  us  is  ouah  work,  an'  all  we  keer 
1 60 


AUNT   MANDY'S   INVESTMENT 

about  them  is  their  money  ;  but  what  do  we  do 
with  it  when  we  git  it  ?  I  '11  tell  you  what  we 
do  with  it ;  we  take  an'  give  it  right  back  to 
the  white  folks  fu'  somef 'n'  or  other  we  want, 
an'  so  they  git  ouah  labour,  an'  ouah  money  too. 
Ain't  that  the  truth  ?" 

There  were  cries  of  "  Yes,  indeed,  that 's  so  ; 
you  're  right,  sho  !  " 

"  Well,  now,  do  you  want  this  hyeah  thing 
to  go  on  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  from  a  good  many  voices. 

"  Then  how  are  we  going  to  stop  it  ?  "  Mr. 
Ruggles  paused.  No  one  answered.  "  Why," 
he  resumed,  "  by  buyin'  from  ourselves,  that 's 
how.  We  all  put  in  so  much  ev'ry  week  till 
we  git  enough  to  buy  things  of  ouah  own  j  then 
we  '11  jest  pat'onise  ouahselves.  Don't  you  see 
it  can't  fail  ?  " 

The  audience  did. 

Brother  Jeremiah  Buford  rose  and  "  hea'tily 
concuhed  in  what  the  brothah  had  said ;  "  and 
dapper  little  Spriggins,  who  was  said  to  be  study 
ing  law,  and  to  be  altogether  as  smart  as  a  whip, 
expressed  his  pleasure  that  a  man  of  such  enter 
prise  had  come  among  them  to  wake  the  coloured 
people  up  to  a  sense  of  their  condition  and  to 
ii  161 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

show  them  a  way  out  of  it.  So  the  idea  which 
had  been  formulated  in  the  fecund  brain  of 
Solomon  Ruggles  became  a  living,  active  reality. 
His  project  once  on  foot,  it  was  easy  enough 
to  get  himself  elected  president  and  treasurer. 
This  was  quite  little  enough  to  do  for  a  man 
whose  bright  idea  might  make  them  all  rich,  so 
thought  the  stockholders  or  prospective  stock 
holders  who  attended  the  meeting,  and  some 
who  came  to  scoff  remained  to  pay.  It  was 
thus  that  the  famous  Coloured  Improvement 
Company  sprang  into  life. 

It  was  a  Saturday  afternoon  of  the  third  week 
after  the  formation  of  the  company  that  Mr. 
Ruggles  sat  in  the  "firm's"  office  alone.  There 
was  a  cloud  upon  his  face.  It  was  the  day 
when  most  of  the  stockholders  brought  in 
their  money,  but  there  had  been  a  picnic  the 
day  before,  and  in  consequence  a  distinct  falling 
off  in  the  receipts  of  the  concern.  This  state 
of  affairs  especially  annoyed  the  president  and 
treasurer,  because  that  dual  official  had  just  in 
volved  himself  in  some  new  obligations  on  the 
strength  of  what  that  day  would  bring  him.  It 
was  annoying.  Was  it  any  wonder,  then,  that 
his  brow  cleared  and  a  smile  lightened  up  his 
162 


AUNT   MANDY'S   INVESTMENT 

rather  pleasant  features  when  the  door  opened 
and  an   old  woman  entered  ? 

"  Ah,  madam,  good  afternoon,"  said  the 
Coloured  American  Investment  Company,  rub 
bing  its  hands ;  "  and  what  kin  I  do  fer  you  ?  " 

The  old  lady  timidly  approached  the  table 
which  the  official  used  as  a  desk.  "  Is  you 
Mistah  Ruggles?"  she  asked. 

"  I  have  the  honah  to  bear  that  name,"  was 
the  bland  response. 

"  Well,  I  got  a  little  money  dat  I  wants  to 
'vest  in  yo'  comp'ny.  I 's  hyeahd  tell  dat  ef 
you  put  yo'  money  in  dere  hit  jes'  lays  and 
grows." 

"  That 's  the  princerple  we  go  on,  to  take 
small  investments  and  give  back  big  profits." 

"  Well,  I 's  sho'  dat  my  'vestment  's  small 
'nough,  but  I  been  savin'  it  a  mighty  long 
while."  The  old  woman  drew  a  weather- 
beaten  purse  from  her  pocket,  and  Solomon 
Ruggles's  eyes  glistened  with  expectation  as  he 
saw  it.  His  face  fell,  though,  when  he  saw 
that  it  held  but  little.  However,  every  little 
helps,  and  he  brightened  again  as  the  old  lady 
counted,  slowly  and  tremblingly,  the  small  store 
of  only  five  dollars  in  all. 
163 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

Ruggles  took  the  money  in  his  eager  palms 
"Of  course,  Mrs.  —  " 

"  Mandy  Smif  's  my  name." 

"  Of  course,  we  can't  promise  you  no  fortune. 
in  return  fu'  an  investment  of  fi'  dollahs,  but 
we  '11  do  the  bes'  we  kin  fu'  you." 

"  I  do'  want  no  fortune  ner  nothin'  lak  dat. 
What  I  wants  is  a  little  mo'  money —  'cause 
—  'cause  I  got  a  boy ;  he  allus  been  a  good  boy 
to  me  an'  tuk  keer  o'  me,  but  he  thought 
he  would  do  bettah  out  West,  so  he  went 
out  dere,  an'  fu'  a  while  he  got  along  all 
right  an'  sent  me  money  reg'lar.  Den  he  took 
down  sick  an'  got  out  o'  work.  It  was  ha'd  fu' 
me  to  git  along  'dout  his  he'p,  'cause  I 's  old. 
But  dat  ain't  what  hu'ts  me.  I  don'  keer  nuffin' 
'bout  myse'f.  I 's  willin'  to  sta've  ef  I  could 
jes'  sen'  fu'  dat  boy  an'  bring  him  home  so 's  I 
could  nuss  him.  Dat 's  de  reason  I 's  a-'vestin' 
dis  money." 

Solomon  Ruggles  fingered  the  bills  nervously. 

"  You  know  when  a  boy 's  sick  dey  ain't  no- 
bidy  kin  nuss  lak  his  own  mothah  kin,  fu'  she 
nussed  him  when  he  was  a  baby ;  he 's  pa't  o' 
huh,  an'  she  knows  his  natur'.  Yo'  mothah 
livin',  Mistah  Ruggles  ?  " 
164 


AUNT   MANDY'S   INVESTMENT 

41  Yes,  'way  down  South  —  she  's  ve'y  ol'." 

" 1  reckon  some  o'  us  ol'  folks  does  live  too 
long  past  dey  times." 

"No,  you  don't;  you  couldn't.  I  wish  to 
God  the  world  was  full  of  jest  sich  ol'  people  as 
you  an'  my  mothah  is." 

"  Bless  you,  honey,  I  laks  to  hyeah  you  talk 
dat  way  'bout  yo'  mammy.  I  ain'  'fred  to  trus' 
my  money  wif  no  man  dat  knows  how  to  'spect 
his  mothah."  The  old  woman  rose  to  go. 
Ruggles  followed  her  to  the  door.  He  was 
trembling  with  some  emotion.  He  shook  the 
investor  warmly  by  the  hand  as  he  bade  her 
good-bye.  "  I  shall  do  the  ve'y  bes'  I  kin  fu' 
you,"  he  said. 

"  How  soon  kin  I  hyeah  'bout  it  ? " 

"  I  've  took  yo'  address,  an'  you  kin  expect 
to  hyeah  from  me  in  a  week's  time  —  that 's 
sooner  than  we  do  anything  fu'  most  of  ouah 
customers." 

"  Thanky,  sir,  fu'  the  favour ;  thanky,  an' 
good-bye,  Mistah  Ruggles." 

The  head  of  the  company  went  in  and  sat 
for  a  long  time  dreaming  over  his  table. 

A  week  later  an  angry  crowd  of  coloured 
investors  stood  outside  the  office  of  the  Coloured 
165 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

Improvement  Company.  The  office  was  closec 
to  all  business,  and  diligent  search  failed  to 
reveal  the  whereabouts  of  Mr.  Solomon  Ruggles. 
The  investors  knew  themselves  to  be  the  vic 
tims  of  a  wily  swindler,  and  they  were  furious. 
Dire  imprecations  were  hurled  at  the  head  of 
the  defaulting  promoter.  But,  as  the  throng 
was  spending  its  breath  in  vain  anger,  an  old 
woman  with  smiling  face  worked  her  way 
through  them  toward  the  door. 

"  Let  me  th'oo,"  she  said ;  "  I  want  to  fin' 
Mistah  Ruggles."  - 

"  Yes,  all  of  us  do.  Has  he  cheated  you, 
too,  Auntie  ?  " 

"  Cheated  me  ?  What 's  de  matter  wif  you, 
man  ?  I  put  f?  dollahs  in  hyeah  las'  week,  an' 
look  at  dat  !  " 

The  old  woman  waved  some  bills  in  the  air 
and  a  letter  with  them.  Some  one  took  it  from 
her  hand  and  read  :  — 

DEAR  MRS.  SMITH,  —  I  am  glad  to  say  that  yore  in- 
t'rust  'cumulated  faster  than  usu'l,  so  I  kan  inklose 
you  heerwith  $15.  I  am  sorry  I  shall  not  see  you 
again,  az  I  am  kalled  away  on  bizness. 

Very  respectably  yores, 

S.  RUGOLES. 
1 66 


AUNT   MANDY'S   INVESTMENT 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  in  surprise, 
and  then  they  began  to  disperse.  Some  one 
said :  "  I  reckon  he  mus'  be  all  right,  aftah  all. 
Aunt  Mandy  got  huh  div'den'." 

"  I  reckon  he  's  comin'  back  all  right,"  said 
another. 

But  Mr.  Ruggles  did  not  come  back. 


167 


THE    INTERVENTION 
OF    PETER 


169 


THE   INTERVENTION   OF   PETER 

No  one  knows  just  what  statement  it  was  of 
Harrison  Randolph's  that  Bob  Lee  doubted. 
The  annals  of  these  two  Virginia  families  have 
not  told  us  that.  But  these  are  the  facts  :  — 

It  was  at  the  home  of  the  Fairfaxes  that  a 
few  of  the  sons  of  the  Old  Dominion  were 
giving  a  dinner,  —  not  to  celebrate  anything  in 
particular,  but  the  joyousness  of  their  own 
souls,  —  and  a  brave  dinner  it  was.  The 
courses  had  come  and  gone,  and  over  their 
cigars  they  had  waxed  more  than  merry.  In 
those  days  men  drank  deep,  and  these  men 
were  young,  full  of  the  warm  blood  of  the 
South  and  the  joy  of  living.  What  wonder 
then  that  the  liquor  that  had  been  mellowing 
in  the  Fairfax  cellars  since  the  boyhood  of  their 
revolutionary  ancestor  should  have  its  effect 
upon  them  ? 

It  is  true  that  it  was  only  a  slight  thing  which 
Bob  Lee  affected  to  disbelieve,  and  that  his  tone 
was  jocosely  bantering  rather  than  impertinent. 
171 


FOLKS  FROM   DIXIE 

But  sometimes  Virginia  heads  are  not  less  hot 
than  Virginia  hearts.  The  two  young  men 
belonged  to  families  that  had  intermarried. 
They  rode  together.  They  hunted  together, 
and  were  friends  as  far  as  two  men  could  be 
who  had  read  the  message  of  love  in  the  dark 
eyes  of  the  same  woman.  So  perhaps  there  was 
some  thought  of  the  long-contested  hand  of 
Miss  Sallie  Ford  in  Harrison  Randolph's  mind 
when  he  chose  to  believe  that  his  honour  had 
been  assailed. 

His  dignity  was  admirable.  There  was  no 
scene  to  speak  of.  It  was  all  very  genteel. 

"  Mr.  Lee,"  he  said,  "  had  chosen  to  doubt 
his  word,  which  to  a  gentleman  was  the  final 
insult.  But  he  felt  sure  that  Mr.  Lee  would  not 
refuse  to  accord  him  a  gentleman's  satisfaction." 
And  the  other's  face  had  waxed  warm  and  red 
and  his  voice  cold  as  he  replied :  "  I  shall  be 
most  happy  to  give  you  the  satisfaction  you 
demand." 

Here  friends  interposed  and  attempted  to 
pacify  the  two.  But  without  avail.  The  wine 
of  the  Fairfaxes  has  a  valiant  quality  in  it,  and 
these  two  who  had  drunken  of  it  could  not  be 
peaceably  reconciled. 

172 


THE   INTERVENTION   OF   PETER 

Each  of  the  young  gentlemen  nodded  to  a 
friend  and  rose  to  depart.  The  joyous  dinner 
party  bade  fair  to  end  with  much  more  serious 
business. 

"  You  shall  hear  from  me  very  shortly,"  said 
Randolph,  as  he  strode  to  the  door. 

"  I  shall  await  your  pleasure  with  impatience, 
sir,  and  give  you  such  a  reply  as  even  you 
cannot  disdain." 

It  was  all  rather  high-flown,  but  youth  is 
dramatic  and  plays  to  the  gallery  of  its  own 
eyes  and  ears.  But  to  one  pair  of  ears  there 
was  no  ring  of  anything  but  tragedy  in  the 
grandiloquent  sentences.  Peter,  the  personal 
attendant  of  Harrison  Randolph,  stood  at  the 
door  as  his  master  passed  out,  and  went  on 
before  him  to  hold  his  stirrup.  The  young 
master  and  his  friend  and  cousin,  Dale,  started 
off  briskly  and  in  silence,  while  Pete,  with  wide 
eyes  and  disturbed  face,  followed  on  behind. 
Just  as  they  were  turning  into  the  avenue  of 
elms  that  led  to  their  own  house,  Randolph 
wheeled  his  horse  and  came  riding  back  to 
his  servant. 

"  Pete,"  said  he,  sternly,  "  what  do  you 
know  ?  " 

173 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

«  Nuffin',  Mas'  Ha'ison,  nuffin'  't  all.  I  do' 
know  nuffin'." 

11 1  don't  believe  you."  The  young  master's 
eyes  were  shining  through  the  dusk.  "  You  're 
always  slipping  around  spying  on  me." 

"  Now  dah  you  goes,  Mas'  Randolph.  I  ain't 
done  a  t'ing,  and  you  got  to  'mence  pickin'  on 
me  —  " 

"  I  just  want  you  to  remember  that  my  busi 
ness  is  mine." 

"  Well,  I  knows  dat." 

"  And  if  you  do  know  anything,  it  will  be 
well  for  you  to  begin  forgetting  right  now." 
They  were  at  the  door  now  and  in  the  act  of 
dismounting.  "Take  Bess  around  and  see  her 
attended  to.  Leave  Dale's  horse  here,  and  — 
I  won't  want  you  any  more  to-night." 

"  Now  how  does  you  an'  Mas'  Dale  'spect 
dat  you  gwine  to  wait  on  yo'se'ves  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  want  you  again  to-night,  I  tell 
you." 

Pete  turned  away  with  an  injured  expression 
on  his  dark  face.  "  Bess,"  he  said  to  the 
spirited  black  mare  as  he  led  her  toward  the 
stables,  "  you  jes'  bettah  t'ank  yo'  Makah  dat 
you  ain't  no  human-bein',  'ca'se  human-bein's 


THE   INTERVENTION   OF   PETER 

is  cur'ous  articles.  Now  you 's  a  boss,  ain't 
you  ?  An'  dey  say  you  ain't  got  no  soul,  but 
you  got  sense,  Bess,  you  got  sense.  You  got 
blood  an*  fiah  an'  breedin'  in  you  too,  ain't 
you  ?  Co'se  you  has.  But  you  knows  how  to 
answah  de  rein.  You 's  a  high  steppah,  too : 
but  you  don'  go  to  work  an'  try  to  brek  yo' 
naik  de  fus'  chanst  you  git.  Bess,  I  'spect  you 
'ca'se  you  got  jedgment,  an'  you  don'  have  to 
have  a  black  man  runnin'  'roun  aftah  you  all/ 
de  time  plannin'  his  haid  off  jes'  to  keep  you! 
out  o'  trouble.  Some  folks  dat  's  human-bein's 
does.  Yet  an'  still,  Bess,  you  ain't  nuffin'  but 
a  dumb  beas',  so  dey  says.  Now,  what  I  gwine 
to  do  ?  Co'se  dey  wants  to  fight.  But  whah 
an'  when  an'  how  I  gwine  to  stop  hit  ?  Do' 
want  me  to  wait  on  him  to-night,  huh  !  No, 
dey  want  to  mek  dey  plans  an'  do'  want  me 
'roun'  to  hyeah,  dat 's  what 's  de  mattah.  Well, 
I  lay  I  '11  hyeah  somep'n'  anyhow." 

Peter  hurried  through  his  work  and  took 
himself  up  to  the  big  house  and  straight  to  his 
master's  room.  He  heard  voices  within,  but 
though  he  took  many  liberties  with  his  owner, 
eavesdropping  was  not  one  of  them.  It  proved 
too  dangerous.  So,  though  "  he  kinder  lingered 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

on  the  mat,  some  doubtful  of  the  sekle,"  it  was 
not  for  long,  and  he  unceremoniously  pushed  the 
door  open  and  walked  in.  With  a  great  show  of 
haste,  he  made  for  his  master's  wardrobe  and 
began  busily  searching  among  the  articles  therein. 
Harrison  Randolph  and  his  cousin  were  in  the 
room,  and  their  conversation,  which  had  been 
animated,  suddenly  ceased  when  Peter  entered. 

"  I  thought  I  told  you  I  did  n't  want  you  any 
more  to-night." 

"  I 's  a-lookin'  fu'  dem  striped  pants  o'  yo'n. 
I  want  to  tek  'em  out  an'  bresh  'em :  dey  's 
p'intly  a  livin'  sight." 

"  You  get  out  o'  here." 

"But,  Mas'  Ha'ison,  now  —  now — look  — 
a  —  hyeah  —  " 

"  Get  out,  I  tell  you  —  " 

Pete  shuffled  from  the  room,  mumbling  as  he 
went :  "  Dah  now,  dah  now !  driv'  out  lak  a 
dog !  How 's  I  gwine  to  fin'  out  anyt'ing 
dis  away  ?  It  do  'pear  lak  Mas'  Ha'ison  do 
try  to  gi'e  me  all  de  trouble  he  know  how. 
Now  he  plannin'  an'  projickin'  wif  dat  cousin 
Dale,  an'  one  jes'  ez  scattah-brained  ez  de 
othah.  Well,  I  'low  I  got  to  beat  dey  time 
somehow  er  ruther." 

176 


THE  INTERVENTION    OF   PETER 

He  was  still  lingering  hopeless  and  worried 
about  the  house  when  he  saw  young  Dale  Ran 
dolph  come  out,  mount  his  horse  and  ride  away. 
After  a  while  his  young  master  also  came  out 
and  walked  up  and  down  in  the  soft  evening 
air.  The  rest  of  the  family  were  seated  about 
on  the  broad  piazza. 

"  I  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with  Harrison 
to-night,"  said  the  young  man's  father,  "he 
seems  so  preoccupied." 

41  Thinking  of  Sallie  Ford,  I  reckon,"  some 
one  replied ;  and  the  remark  passed  with  a  laugh. 
Pete  was  near  enough  to  catch  this,  but  he  did 
not  stop  to  set  them  right  in  their  conjectures. 
He  slipped  into  the  house  as  noiselessly  as 
possible. 

It  was  less  than  two  hours  after  this  when 
Dale  Randolph  returned  and  went  immediately 
to  his  cousin's  room,  where  Harrison  followed 
him. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  latter,  as  soon  as  the  door 
closed  behind  them. 

"  It 's  all  arranged,  and  he 's  anxious  to 
hurry  it  through  for  fear  some  one  may  inter 
fere.  Pistols,  and  to-morrow  morning  at  day 
break." 


FOLKS  FROM   DIXIE 

"  And  the  place  ? " 

"The  little  stretch  of  woods  that  borders 
Ford's  Creek.  I  say,  Harrison,  it  is  n't  too  late 
to  stop  this  thing  yet.  It 's  a  shame  for  you 
two  fellows  to  fight.  You  're  both  too  decent 
to  be  killed  for  a  while  yet." 

"  He  insulted  me." 

"  Without  intention,  every  one  believes." 

"  Then  let  him  apologise." 

"  As  well  ask  the  devil  to  take  Communion." 

"  We  '11  fight  then." 

"  All  right.  If  you  must  fight,  you  must. 
But  you  'd  better  get  to  bed  ;  for  you  '11  need  a 
strong  arm  and  a  steady  hand  to-morrow." 

If  a  momentary  paleness  struck  into  the  young 
fellow's  face,  it  was  for  a  moment  only,  and  he 
set  his  teeth  hard  before  he  spoke. 

"  I  am  going  to  write  a  couple  of  letters,"  he 
said,  "  then  I  shall  lie  down  for  an  hour  or  so. 
Shall  we  go  down  and  drink  a  steadier  ?  " 

"  One  won't  hurt,  of  course." 

"And,  by  the  way,  Dale,  if  I  —  if  it  happens 
to  be  me  to-morrow,  you  take  Pete  —  he 's  a 
good  fellow." 

The  cousins  clasped  hands  in  silence  and 
passed  out.  As  the  door  closed  behind  them,  a 
178 


THE   INTERVENTION   OF   PETER 

dusty  form  rolled  out  from  under  the  bed,  and 
the  disreputable,  eavesdropping,  backsliding  Pete 
stood  up  and  rubbed  a  sleeve  across  his  eyes. 

"  It  ain't  me  dat  's  gwine  to  be  give  to  nobody 
else.  I  hates  to  do  it,  but  dey  ain't  no  othah 
way.  Mas'  Ha'ison  cain't  be  spaihed."  He 
glided  out  mysteriously,  some  plan  of  salvation 
working  in  his  black  head. 

Just  before  daybreak  next  morning,  three 
stealthy  figures  crept  out  and  made  their  way 
toward  Ford's  Creek.  One  skulked  behind  the 
other  two,  dogging  their  steps  and  taking  advan 
tage  of  the  darkness  to  keep  very  near  to  them. 
At  the  grim  trysting-place  they  halted  and  were 
soon  joined  by  other  stealthy  figures,  and  together 
they  sat  down  to  wait  for  the  daylight.  The 
seconds  conferred  for  a  few  minutes.  The 
ground  was  paced  off,  and  a  few  low-pitched 
orders  prepared  the  young  men  for  business. 

"  I  will  count  three,  gentlemen,"  said  Lieu 
tenant  Custis.  "  At  three,  you  are  to  fire." 

At  last  daylight  came,  gray  and  timid  at  first, 
and  then  red  and  bold  as  the  sun  came  clearly 
up.  The  pistols  were  examined  and  the  men 
placed  face  to  face. 

179 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  Are  you  ready,  gentlemen  ?  " 

But  evidently  Harrison  Randolph  was  not. 
He  was  paying  no  attention  to  the  seconds. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  on  an  object  behind  his 
opponent's  back.  His  attitude  relaxed  and  his 
mouth  began  twitching.  Then  he  burst  into  a 
peal  of  laughter. 

"  Pete,"  he  roared,  "  drop  that  and  come  out 
from  there  !  "  and  away  he  went  into  another 
convulsion  of  mirth.  The  others  turned  just  in 
time  to  see  Pete  cease  his  frantic  grimaces  of 
secrecy  at  his  master,  and  sheepishly  lower  an 
ancient  fowling-piece  which  he  had  had  levelled 
at  Bob  Lee. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  do  with  that  gun 
levelled  at  me  ? "  asked  Lee,  his  own  face 
twitching. 

"  I  was  gwine  to  fiah  jes'  befo'  dey  said  free. 
I  wa'n't  gwine  to  kill  you,  Mas'  Bob.  I  was 
on'y  gwine  to  lame  you." 

Another  peal  of  laughter  from  the  whole 
crowd  followed  this  condescending  statement. 

"You  unconscionable  scoundrel,  you!  If  I 
was  your  master,  I  'd  give  you  a  hundred  lashes." 

"  Pete,"  said  his  master,  "  don't  you  know 
that  it  is  dishonourable  to  shoot  a  man  from  be- 
180 


THE    INTERVENTION  OF   PETER 

hind  ?     You  see  you  have  n't  in  you  the  making 
of  a  gentleman." 

" 1  do'  know  nuffin'  'bout  mekin'  a  gent'man, 
but  I  does  know  how  to  save  one  dat  's  already   | 
made." 

The  prime  object  of  the  meeting  had  been 
entirely  forgotten.  They  gathered  around  Pete 
and  examined  the  weapon. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Randolph,  "  we  have  been 
saved  by  a  miracle.  This  old  gun,  as  well  as  I 
can  remember  and  count,  has  been  loaded  for 
the  past  twenty-five  years,  and  if  Pete  had  tried 
to  fire  it,  it  would  have  torn  up  all  of  this  part 
of  the  county."  Then  the  eyes  of  the  two 
combatants  met.  There  was  something  irresis 
tibly  funny  in  the  whole  situation,  and  they  found 
themselves  roaring  again..  Then,  with  one  im 
pulse,  they  shook  hands  without  a  word. 

And  Pete  led  the  way  home,  the  willing  butt 
of  a  volume  of  good-natured  abuse. 


181 


NELSE   HATTON'S 
VENGEANCE 


'83 


NELSE   HATTON'S   VENGEANCE 

IT  was  at  the  close  of  a  summer  day,  and  the 
sun  was  sinking  dimly  red  over  the  hills  of  the 
little  Ohio  town  which,  for  convenience,  let 
us  call  Dexter. 

The  people  had  eaten  their  suppers',  and  the 
male  portion  of  the  families  had  come  out  in 
front  of  their  houses  to  smoke  and  rest  or  read 
the  evening  paper.  Those  who  had  porches 
drew  their  rockers  out  on  them,  and  sat  with 
their  feet  on  the  railing.  Others  took  their 
more  humble  positions  on  the  front  steps,  while 
still  others,  whose  houses  were  flush  with  the 
street,  went  even  so  far  as  to  bring  their  chairs 
out  upon  the  sidewalk,  and  over  all  there  was 
an  air  of  calmness  and  repose  save  when  a 
glance  through  the  open  doors  revealed  the 
housewives  busy  at  their  evening  dishes,  or 
the  blithe  voices  of  the  children  playing  in  the 
street  told  that  little  Sally  Waters  was  a-sitting 
in  a  saucer  or  asserted  with  doubtful  veracity 
that  London  Bridge  was  falling  down.  Here 


FOLKS    FROM    DIXIE 

and  there  a  belated  fisherman  came  straggling 
up  the  street  that  led  from  the  river,  every  now 
and  then  holding  up  his  string  of  slimy,  wig 
gling  catfish  in  answer  to  the  query  "  Wha 
'd  you  ketch  ?  " 

To  one  who  knew  the  generous  and  unpreju 
diced  spirit  of  the  Dexterites,  it  was  no  mattei 
of  wonder  that  one  of  their  soundest  and  most 
highly  respected  ckizens  was  a  coloured  man. 
and  that  his  home  should  nestle  unrebuked 
among  the  homes  of>his  white  neighbours. 

Nelse  Hatton  had  won  the  love  and  respect 
of  his  fellow-citizens  by  the  straightforward 
honesty  of  his  conduct  and  the  warmth  of  his 
heart.  Everybody  knew  him.  He  had  been 
doing  chores  about  Dexter, —  cutting  grass  in 
summer,  cleaning  and  laying  carpets  in  the 
spring  and  fall,  and  tending  furnaces  in  the 
winter,  —  since  the  time  when,  a  newly  emanci 
pated  man,  he  had  passed  over  from  Kentucky 
into  Ohio.  Since  then  through  thrift  he  had 
attained,  quite  a  competence,  and,  as  he  him 
self  expressed  it,  "  owned  some  little  propity." 
He  was  one  among  the  number  who  had  arisen 
to  the  dignity  of  a  porch ;  and  on  this  evening 
he  was  sitting  thereon,  laboriously  spelling  out 
1 86 


WHA'l)    YOU    CATCH?" 


NELSE   HATTON'S   VENGEANCE 

the  sentences  in  the  Evening  News  —  his  read 
ing  was  a  post-bellum  accomplishment  —  when 
the  oldest  of  his  three  children,  Theodore,  a  boy 
of  twelve,  interrupted  him  with  the  intelligence 
that  there  was  an  "old  straggler  at  the  back 
door." 

After  admonishing  the  hope  of  his  years  as 
to  the  impropriety  of  applying  such  a  term  to 
an  unfortunate,  the  father  rose  and  sought  the 
place  where  the  "straggler"  awaited  him. 

Nelse's  sympathetic  heart  throbbed  with 
pity  at  the  sight  that  met  his  eye.  The 
"straggler,"  a  "thing  of  shreds  and  patches," 
was  a  man  about  his  own  age,  nearing  fifty  ; 
but  what  a  contrast  he  was  to  the  well-preserved, 
well-clothed  black  man !  His  gray  hair  straggled 
carelessly  about  his  sunken  temples,  and  the 
face  beneath  it  was  thin  and  emaciated.  The 
hands  that  pulled  at  the  fringe  cf  the  ragged 
coat  were  small  and  bony.  But  both  the  face 
and  the  hands  were  clean,  and  there  was  an 
open  look  in  the  bold,  dark  eye. 

In  strong  contrast,  too,  with  his  appearance 

was  the  firm,  well-modulated  voice,  somewhat 

roughened  by  exposure,  in  which   he  said,  "I 

am  very  hungry;  will  you  give  me  something 

187 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

to  eat  ? "  It  was  a  voice  that  might  have 
spoken  with  authority.  There  was  none  of  the 
beggar's  whine  in  it.  It  was  clear  and  straight- 

OO  C-1 

forward;  and  the  man  spoke  the  simple  sentence 
almost  as  if  it  had  been  a  protest  against  his  sad 
condition. 

"Jes'  set  down  on  the  step  an'  git  cool," 
answered  Nelse,  "  an'  I  '11  have  something  put 
on  the  table." 

The  stranger  silently  did  as  he  was  bidden, 
and  his  host  turned  into  the  house. 

Eliza  Hatton  had  been  quietly  watching  pro 
ceedings,  and  as  her  husband  entered  the  kitchen 
she  said,  "  Look  a-here,  Nelse,  you  shorely 
ain't  a-goin'  to  have  that  tramp  in  the  kitchen 
a-settin'  up  to  the  table  ?  " 

44 Why,  course,"  said  Nelse;  "he's  human, 
ain't  he  ?  " 

"  That  don't  make  no  difference.  I  bet  none 
of  these  white  folks  round  here  would  do  it." 

"  That  ain't  none  of  my  business,"  answered 
her  husband.  "  I  believe  in  every  person  doin' 
their  own  duty.  Put  somethin'  down  on  the 
table  ;  the  man  's  hungry.  An'  don't  never  git 
stuck  up,  'Lizy ;  you  don't  know  what  our 
children  have  got  to  come  to." 
188 


NELSE    HATTON'S   VENGEANCE 

Nelse  Hatton  was  a  man  of  few  words ;  but 
there  was  a  positive  manner  about  him  at 
times  that  admitted  of  neither  argument  nor 
resistance. 

His  wife  did  as  she  was  bidden,  and  then 
swept  out  in  the  majesty  of  wounded  dignity,  as 
the  tramp  was  ushered  in  and  seated  before  the 
table  whose  immaculate  white  cloth  she  had 
been  prudent  enough  to  change  for  a  red  one. 

The  man  ate  as  if  he  were  hungry,  but  always 
as  if  he  were  a  hungry  gentleman.  There  was 
something  in  his  manner  that  impressed  Nelse 
that  he  was  not  feeding  a  common  tramp  as  he 
sat  and  looked  at  his  visitor  in  polite  curiosity. 
After  a  somewhat  continued  silence  he  addressed 
the  man :  "  Why  don't  you  go  to  your  own 
people  when  you  're  hungry  instead  of  coming 
to  us  coloured  folks  ?  " 

There  was  no  reproof  in  his  tone,  only 
inquiry. 

The  stranger's  eyes  flashed  suddenly. 

"  Go  to  them  up  here  ?  "  he  said ;  "  never. 
They  would  give  me  my  supper  with  their 
hypocritical  patronage  and  put  it  down  to  charity. 
You  give  me  something  to  eat  as  a  favour. 
Your  gift  proceeds  from  disinterested  kind- 
189 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

ness ;  they  would  throw  me  a  bone  because 
they  thought  it  would  weigh  something  in  the 
balance  against  their  sins.  To  you  I  am  an 
unfortunate  man ;  to  them  I  am  a  tramp." 

The  stranger  had  spoken  with  much  heat  and 
no  hesitation  ;  but  his  ardour  did  not  take  the 
form  of  offence  at  Nelse's  question.  He  seemed 
perfectly  to  comprehend  the  motive  which  actu 
ated  it. 

Nelse  had  listened  to  him  with  close  atten 
tion,  and  at  the  end  of  his  harangue  he  said, 
"  You  had  n't  ought  to  be  so  hard  on  your  own 
people;  they  mean  well  enough." 

"  My  own  people ! "  the  stranger  flashed 
back.  "My  people  are  the  people  of  the 
South,  —  the  people  who  have  in  their  veins  the 
warm,  generous  blood  of  Dixie !  " 

"I  don't  see  what  you  stay  in  the  North  fur 
ef  you  don't  like  the  people." 

"  I  am  not  staying ;  I  'm  getting  away  from 
it  as  fast  as  I  can.  I  only  came  because  I 
thought,  like  a  lot  of  other  poor  fools,  that  the 
North  had  destroyed  my  fortunes  and  it  might 
restore  them  ;  but  five  years  of  fruitless  struggle 
in  different  places  out  of  Dixie  have  shown  me 
that  it  is  n't  the  place  for  a  man  with  blood  in 
190 


NELSE   HATTON'S   VENGEANCE 

his  veins.  I  thought  that  I  was  reconstructed; 
but  I  'm  not.  My  State  did  n't  need  it,  but  I 
did." 

"Where 're  you   from?" 

"  Kentucky  ;  and  there  's  where  I  'm  bound 
for  now.  I  want  to  get  back  where  people  have 
hearts  and  sympathies." 

The  coloured  man  was  silent.  After  a  while 
he  said,  and  his  voice  was  tremulous  as  he 
thought  of  the  past,  "  I  'm  from  Kintucky, 
myself." 

"  I  knew  that  you  were  from  some  place  in 
the  South.  There's  no  mistaking  our  people, 
black  or  white,  wherever  you  meet  them. 
Kentucky 's  a  great  State,  sir.  She  did  n't 
secede;  but  there  were  lots  of  her  sons  on  the 
other  side.  I  was ;  and  I  did  my  duty  as  clear 
as  I  could  see  it." 

"That's  all  any  man  kin  do,"  said  Nelse; 
"an'  I  ain't  a-blamin'  you.  I  lived  with  as 
good  people  as  ever  was.  I  know  they  would  n't 
'a'  done  nothin'  wrong  ef  they  'd  'a'  knowed  it ; 
an'  they  was  on  the  other  side." 

"  You  've  been  a  slave,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  was  born  a  slave  j  but  the  War 
freed  me." 

191 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

"  I  reckon  you  would  n't  think  that  my  folks 
ever  owned  slaves ;  but  they  did.  Everybody 
was  good  to  them  except  me,  and  I  was  young 
and  liked  to  show  my  authority.  I  had  a  little 
black  boy  that  I  used  to  cuff  around  a  good 
deal,  altho'  he  was  near  to  me  as  a  brother. 
But  sometimes  he  would  turn  on  me  and  give 
me  the  trouncing  that  I  deserved.  He  would 
have  been  skinned  for  it  if  my  father  had  found 
it  out;  but  I  was  always  too  much  ashamed  of 
being  thrashed  to  tell." 

The  speaker  laughed,  and  Nelse  joined  him. 
"  Bless  my  soul !  "  he  said,  "  ef  that  ain't  jes' 
the  way  it  was  with  me  an'  my  Mas'  Tom  —  " 

"  Mas'  Tom  !  "  cried  the  stranger  ;  "  man, 
what's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Nelse  Hatton,"  replied  the  Negro.        . 

"  Heavens,  Nelse  !  I  'm  your  young  Mas' 
Tom.  I  'm  Tom  Hatton ;  don't  you  know 
me,  boy  ?  " 

"  You  can't  be — you  can't  be  !  "  exclaimed 
the  Negro. 

"  I  am,  I  tell  you.      Don't  you  remember  the 

scar   I    got   on   my   head    from    falling    off  old 

Baldy's  back  ?     Here  it  is.      Can't  you  see  ?  " 

cried   the  stranger,   lifting   the   long   hair  away 

192 


NELSE   HATTON'S   VENGEANCE 

from    one   side    of  his   brow.     "  Does  n't    this 
convince  you  ?  " 

"  It 's  you  —  it 's  you  ;  't  ain't  nobody  else  but 
Mas'  Tom  !  "  and  the  ex-slave  and  his  former 
master  rushed  joyously  into  each  other's  arms. 

There  was  no  distinction  of  colour  or  condi 
tion  there.  There  was  no  thought  of  superior 
ity  on  the  one  hand,  or  feeling  of  inferiority  on 
the  other.  They  were  simply  two  loving  friends 
who  had  been  long  parted  and  had  met  again. 

After  a  while  the  Negro  said,  "  I  'm  sure 
the  Lord  must  'a'  sent  you  right  here  to  this 
house,  so  's  you  would  n't  be  eatin'  off  o'  none 
o'  these  poor  white  people  'round  here." 

"I  reckon  you're  religious  now,  Nelse;  but 
I  see  it  ain't  changed  your  feeling  toward  poor 
white  people." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  used  to  be 
purty  bad  about  'em." 

"  Indeed  you  did.  Do  you  remember  the 
time  we  stoned  the  house  of  old  Nat,  the  white 
wood-sawyer  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  reckon  I  do  !  Was  n't  we  awful, 
them  days  ?  "  said  Nelse,  with  forced  contrition, 
but  with  something  almost  like  a  chuckle  in  his 
voice. 

13  193 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

And  yet  there  was  a  great  struggle  going  on 
in  the  mind  of  this  black  man.  Thirty  years  of 
freedom  and  the  advantages  of  a  Northern  State 
made  his  whole  soul  revolt  at  the  word  "  mas 
ter."  But  that  fine  feeling,  that  tender  sym 
pathy,  which  is  natural  to  the  real  Negro,  made 
him  hesitate  to  make  the  poor  wreck  of  former 
glory  conscious  of  his  changed  estate  by  using 
a  different  appellation.  His  warm  sympathies 
conquered. 

"  I  want  you  to  see  my  wife  and  boys,  Mas' 
Tom,"  he  said,  as  he  passed  out  of  the  room. 

Eliza  Hatton  sat  in  her  neatly  appointed  little 
front  room,  swelling  with  impotent  rage. 

If  this  story  were  chronicling  the  doings  of 
some  fanciful  Negro,  or  some  really  rude  planta 
tion  hand,  it  might  be  said  that  the  "  front 
room  was  filled  with  a  conglomeration  of  cheap 
but  pretentious  furniture,  and  the  walls  covered 
with  gaudy  prints"  —  this  seems  to  be  the  usual 
phrase.  But  in  it  the  chronicler  too  often  for 
gets  how  many  Negroes  were  house-servants, 
and  from  close  contact  with  their  master's 
families  imbibed  aristocratic  notions  and  quiet 
but  elegant  tastes. 

This  front  room  was  very  quiet  in  its  appoint- 
194 


NELSE    HATTON'S   VENGEANCE 

ments.  Everything  in  it  was  subdued  except  — 
Mrs.  Hatton.  She  was  rocking  back  and  forth 
in  a  light  little  rocker  that  screeched  the  indig 
nation  she  could  not  express.  She  did  not 
deign  to  look  at  Nelse  as  he  came  into  the 
room  ;  but  an  acceleration  of  speed  on  the  part 
of  the  rocker  showed  that  his  presence  was 
known. 

Her  husband's  enthusiasm  suddenly  died  out 
as  he  looked  at  her ;  but  he  put  on  a  brave  face 
as  he  said,  — 

"  'Lizy,  I  bet  a  cent  you  can't  guess  who 
that  pore  man  in  there  is." 

The  rocker  suddenly  stopped  its  violent  mo 
tion  with  an  equally  violent  jerk,  as  the  angry 
woman  turned  upon  her  husband. 

"  No,  I  can't  guess,"  she  cried ;  "  an'  I  don't 
want  to.  It 's  enough  to  be  settin'  an  on'ry  ol' 
tramp  down  to  my  clean  table,  without  havin' 
me  spend  my  time  guessin'  who  he  is." 

"  But  look  a-here,  'Lizy,  this  is  all  different ; 
an'  you  don't  understand." 

"  Don't  care  how  different  it  is,  I  do'  want 
to  understand." 

"  You  '11  be  mighty  su'prised,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  'low  I  will;  I  'm  su'prised  already  at  you 
195 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

puttin'  yourself  on  a  level  with  tramps."     This 
with  fine  scorn. 

"  Be  careful,  'Lizy,  be  careful ;  you  don't 
know  who  a  tramp  may  turn  out  to  be." 

"  That  ol'  humbug  in  there  has  been  tellin' 
you  some  big  tale,  an'  you  ain't  got  no  more 
sense  'an  to  believe  it ;  I  'spect  he  's  crammin' 
his  pockets  full  of  my  things  now.  Ef  you 
don't  care,  I  do." 

The  woman  rose  and  started  toward  the  door, 
but  her  husband  stopped  her.  "  You  must  n't 
go  out  there  that  way,"  he  said.  "  I  want  you 
to  go  out,  you  an'  the  childern  ;  but  I  want  you  to 
go  right — that  man  is  the  son  of  my  ol'  master, 
my  young  Mas'  Tom,  as  I  used  to  call  him." 

She  fell  back  suddenly  and  stared  at  him  with 
wide-open  eyes. 

"  Your  master  ! " 

"  Yes,  it 's  young  Mas'  Tom  Hatton." 

"  An'  you  want  me  an'  the  childern  to  see 
him,  do  you  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  thought  —  " 

u  Humph !  that 's  the  slave  in  you  yet,"  she 
interrupted.     "  I  thought  thirty  years  had  made 
you  free !      Ain't  that  the  man  you  told  me  used 
to  knock  you  'round  so  ?  " 
196 


NELSE   HATTON'S   VENGEANCE 

"  Yes,  'Lizy  ;  but  —  " 

"  Ain't  he  the  one  that  made  you  haul  him  in 
the  wheelbar',  an'  whipped  you  because  you 
could  n't  go  fast  enough  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but  that  —  " 

"  Ain't  he  the  one  that  lef '  that  scar  there  ?  " 
she  cried,  with  a  sudden  motion  of  her  hand 
toward  his  neck. 

"  Yes,"  said  Nelse,  very  quietly  ;  but  he  put 
his  hand  up  and  felt  the  long,  cruel  scar  that  the 
lash  of  a  whip  had  left,  and  a  hard  light  came 
into  his  eyes. 

His  wife  went  on :  "  An'  you  want  to  take 
me  an'  the  childern  in  to  see  that  man  ?  No  !  " 
The  word  came  with  almost  a  snarl.  "  Me  an1 
my  childern  are  free  born,  an',  ef  I  kin  help  it, 
they  sha'n't  never  look  at  the  man  that  laid  the 
lash  to  their  father's  back  !  Shame  on  you, 
Nelse,  shame  on  you,  to  want  your  childern, 
that  you  're  tryin'  to  raise  independent,  —  to 
want  'em  to  see  the  man  that  you  had  to  call 
'master'!" 

The  man's  lips  quivered,  and  his  hand  opened 
and  shut  with  a  convulsive  motion ;  but  he  said 
nothing. 

"  What  did  you  tell  me  ? "  she  asked.  "Did  n't 
197 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

you  say  that  if  you  ever  met  him  again  in  this 
world  you  'd  —  " 

"  Kill  him  !  "  burst  forth  the  man  ;  and  all  the 
old,  gentle  look  had  gone  out  of  his  face,  and 
there  was  nothing  but  fierceness  and  bitterness 
there,  as  his  mind  went  back  to  his  many 
wrongs. 

u  Go  on  away  from  the  house,  'Lizy,"  he  said 
hoarsely  ;  "  if  anything  happens,  I  do'  want  you 
an'  the  childern  around." 

"  I  do'  want  you  to  kill  him,  Nelse,  so  you  '11 
git  into  trouble ;  but  jes'  give  him  one  good 
whippin'  for  those  he  used  to  give  you." 

"Go  on  away  from  the  house;"  and  the 
man's  lips  were  tightly  closed.  She  threw  a 
thin  shawl  over  her  head  and  went  out. 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone  Nelse's  intense  feel 
ing  got  the  better  of  him,  and,  falling  down  with 
his  face  in  a  chair,  he  cried,  in  the  language 
which  the  Sunday  sermons  had  taught  him, 
"  Lord,  Lord,  thou  hast  delivered  mine  enemy 
into  my  hands  !  " 

But  it  was  not  a  prayer ;   it  was  rather  a  cry 

of   anger   and    anguish    from   an    overburdened 

heart.      He  rose,  with  the  same  hard  gleam   in 

his  eyes,  and   went   back  toward  the  kitchen. 

198 


NELSE   HATTON'S   VENGEANCE 

to  Kintucky,  an'  leave  somethin'  in  your  pocket 
besides.     Go  home,  Mas'  Tom,  —  go  home!" 

"  Nelse,  I  can't  do  it ;  this  is  too  much  !  " 

"  Doggone  my  cats,  ef  you  don't  go  on  —  " 

The  white  man  stood  bowed  for  a  moment ; 
then,  straightening  up,  he  threw  his  head  back. 
"  I  '11  take  it,  Nelse ;  but  you  shall  have  every 
cent  back,  even  if  I  have  to  sell  my  body  to  a 
medical  college  and  use  a  gun  to  deliver  the 
goods  !  Good-bye,  Nelse,  God  bless  you !  good 
bye." 

"  Good-bye,  Mas'  Tom,  but  don't  talk  that 
way ;  go  home.  The  South  is  changed,  an' 
you  '11  find  somethin'  to  suit  you.  Go  home 
—  go  home;  an'  ef  there's  any  of  the  folks 
a-livin',  give  'em  my  love,  Mas'  Tom  —  give 
'em  my  love  —  good-bye  —  good-bye ! " 

The  Negro  leaned  over  the  proffered  hand, 
and  his  tears  dropped  upon  it.  His  master 
passed  out,  and  he  sat  with  his  head  bowed  in 
his  hands. 

After  a  long  while  Eliza  came  creeping  in. 

"  Wha'  'd  you  do  to  him,  Nelse — wha'  'd  you 
do  to  him  ?  "     There  was  no  answer.     "  Lawd, 
I  hope  you  ain't  killed  him,"  she  said,  looking 
fearfully  around.     "  I  don't  see  no  blood." 
201 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  I  ain't  killed  him,"  said  Nelse.  "  I  sent 
him  home  —  back  to  the  ol'  place." 

"  You  sent  him  home  !  how  'd  you  send  him, 
huh  ? " 

"  I  give  him  my  Sunday  suit  and  that  money 
—  don't  git  mad,  'Lizy,  don't  git  mad  —  that 
money  I  was  savin'  for  your  cloak.  I  could  n't 
help  it,  to  save  my  life.  He  's  goin'  back  home 
among  my  people,  an*  I  sent  'em  my  love. 
Don't  git  mad  an'  I  '11  git  you  a  cloak  anyhow." 

"  Pleggone  the  cloak !  "  said  Mrs.  Hatton, 
suddenly,  all  the  woman  in  her  rising  in  her 
eyes.  "  I  was  so  'fraid  you  'd  take  my  advice 
an'  do  somethin'  wrong.  Ef  you  're  happy, 
Nelse,  I  am  too.  I  don't  grudge  your  master 
nothin'  —  the  ol'  devil !  But  you  're  jes'  a 
good-natured,  big-hearted,  weak-headed  ol' 
fool !  "  And  she  took  his  head  in  her  arms. 

Great  tears  rolled  down  the  man's  cheeks, 
and  he  said :  "  Bless  God,  'Lizy,  I  feel  as  good 
as  a  young  convert." 


AT   SHAFT   11 


203 


AT   SHAFT   11 

NIGHT  falls  early  over  the  miners'  huts  that 
cluster  at  the  foot  of  the  West  Virginia  moun 
tains.  The  great  hills  that  give  the  vales  their 
shelter  also  force  upon  them  their  shadow. 
Twilight  lingers  a  short  time,  and  then  gives 
way  to  that  black  darkness  which  is  possible  only 
to  regions  in  the  vicinity  of  high  and  heavily 
wooded  hills. 

Through  the  fast-gathering  gloom  of  a  mid- 
spring  evening,  Jason  Andrews,  standing  in  his 
door,  peered  out  into  the  open.  It  was  a  sight 
of  rugged  beauty  that  met  his  eyes  as  they 
swept  the  broken  horizon.  All  about  the  moun 
tains  raised  their  huge  forms,  —  here  bare,  sharp, 
and  rocky  ;  there  undulating,  and  covered  with 
wood  and  verdure,  whose  various  shades  melted 
into  one  dull,  blurred,  dark  green,  hardly  dis 
tinguishable  in  the  thick  twilight.  At  the  foot 
of  the  hills  all  was  in  shadow,  but  their  summits 
were  bathed  in  the  golden  and  crimson  glory  of 
departing  day. 

205 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

Jason  Andrews,  erstwhile  foreman  of  Shaft  u, 
gazed  about  him  with  an  eye  not  wholly  unap- 
preciative  of  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  Then, 
shading  his  eyes  with  one  brawny  hand,  an  act 
made  wholly  unnecessary  by  the  absence  of  the 
sun,  he  projected  his  vision  far  down  into  the 
valley. 

His  hut,  set  a  little  way  up  the  mountain-side, 
commanded  an  extended  view  of  the  road,  which, 
leaving  the  slope,  ran  tortuously  through  the 
lower  land.  Evidently  something  that  he  saw 
down  the  road  failed  to  please  the  miner,  for  he 
gave  a  low  whistle  and  re-entered  the  house  with 
a  frown  on  his  face. 

"  I  '11  be  goin'  down  the  road  a  minute,  Kate," 
he  said  to  his  wife,  throwing  on  his  coat  and 
pausing  at  the  door.  "  There 's  a  crowd  gathered 
down  toward  the  settlement.  Somethin'  's  goin' 
on,  an'  I  want  to  see  what 's  up."  He  slammed 
the  door  and  strode  away. 

"Jason,  Jason,"  his  wife  called  after  him, 
"  don't  you  have  nothin'  to  do  with  their  goin's- 
on,  neither  one  way  nor  the  other.  Do  you 
hear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  '11  take  care  o'  myself."    The  answer 
came  back  out  of  the  darkness. 
206 


AT   SHAFT   11 

"  I  do  wish  things  would  settle  down  some  way 
or  other,"  mused  Mrs.  Andrews.  "  I  don't  see 
why  it  is  men  can't  behave  themselves  an'  go 
'long  about  their  business,  lettin'  well  enough 
alone.  It 's  all  on  account  o'  that  pesky  walkin' 
delegate  too.  I  wisht  he  'd  'a'  kept  walkin'.  If 
all  the  rest  o'  the  men  had  had  the  common- 
sense  that  Jason  has,  he  would  n't  never 'a'  took 
no  effect  on  them.  But  most  of  'em  must  set 
with  their  mouths  open  like  a  lot  o'  ninnies 
takin'  in  everything  that  come  their  way,  and 
now  here  's  all  this  trouble  on  our  hands." 

There  were  indeed  troublous  times  at  the  little 
mining  settlement.  The  men  who  made  up  the 
community  were  all  employees,  in  one  capacity 
or  another,  of  the  great  Crofton  West  Virginia 
Mining  Co.  They  had  been  working  on,  con 
tented  and  happy,  at  fair  wages  and  on  good 
terms  with  their  employers,  until  the  advent 
among  them  of  one  who  called  himself,  alter 
nately,  a  benefactor  of  humanity  and  a  labour 
agitator.  He  proceeded  to  show  the  men  how 
they  were  oppressed,  how  they  were  withheld 
from  due  compensation  for  their  labours,  while 
the  employers  rolled  in  the  wealth  which  the 
workers'  hands  had  produced.  With  great  adroit- 
207 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

ness  of  argument  and  elaboration  of  phrase,  he 
contrived  to  show  them  that  they  were  altogether 
the  most  ill-treated  men  in  America.  There 
was  only  one  remedy  for  the  misery  of  their 
condition,  and  that  was  to  pay  him  two  dollars 
and  immediately  organise  a  local  branch  of  the 
Miners'  Labour  Union.  The  men  listened.  He 
was  so  perfectly  plausible,  so  smooth,  and  so 
clear.  He  found  converts  among  them.  Some 
few  combated  the  man's  ideas,  and  none  among 
these  more  forcibly  than  did  Jason  Andrews,  the 
foreman  of  Shaft  1 1.  But  the  heresy  grew,  and 
the  opposition  was  soon  overwhelmed.  There 
are  always  fifty  fools  for  every  fallacy.  Of 
course,  the  thing  to  do  was  to  organise  against 
oppression,  and  accordingly,  amid  great  enthu 
siasm,  the  union  was  formed.  With  the  excep 
tion  of  Jason  Andrews,  most  of  the  men,  cowed 
by  the  majority  opposed  to  them,  yielded  their 
ground  and  joined.  But  not  so  he.  It  was 
sturdy,  stubborn  old  Scotch  blood  that  coursed 
through  his  veins.  He  stayed  out  of  the  society 
even  at  the  expense  of  the  friendship  of  some 
of  the  men  who  had  been  his  friends.  Taunt 
upon  taunt  was  thrown  into  his  face. 

"  He 's  on  the  side  of  the  rich.    He's  for  capi- 
208 


AT   SHAFT   11 

tal  against  labour.  He 's  in  favour  of  support 
ing  a  grinding  monopoly."  All  this  they  said  in 
the  ready,  pat  parlance  of  their  class ;  but  the 
foreman  went  his  way  unmoved,  and  kept  his 
own  counsel. 

Then,  like  the  falling  of  a  thunderbolt,  had 
come  the  visit  of  the  "  walking-delegate  "  for  the 
district,  and  his  command  to  the  men  to  "go 
out."  For  a  little  time  the  men  demurred  ;  but 
the  word  of  the  delegate  was  law.  Some  other 
company  had  failed  to  pay  its  employees  a  proper 
price,  and  the  whole  district  was  to  be  made  an 
example  of.  Even  while  the  men  were  asking 
what  it  was  all  about,  the  strike  was  declared 
on. 

The  usual  committee,  awkward,  shambling, 
hat  in  hand,  and  uncomfortable  in  their  best 
Sunday  clothes,  called  upon  their  employers  to 
attempt  to  explain  the  grievances  which  had 
brought  about  the  present  state  of  affairs.  The 
"  walking-delegate  "  had  carefully  prepared  it  all 
for  them,  with  the  new  schedule  of  wages  based 
upon  the  company's  earnings. 

The  three  men  who  had  the  local  affairs  of 
the  company  in  charge  heard  them  through 
quietly.  Then  young  Harold  Crofton,  acting  as 
14  209 


FOLKS  FROM   DIXIE 

spokesman,  said,  "Will  you  tell  us  how  long 
since  you  discovered  that  your  wages  were 
unfair  ?  " 

The  committee  severally  fumbled  its  hat  and 
looked  confused.  Finally  Grierson,  who  had 
been  speaking  for  them,  said :  "  Well,  we  've  been 
thinkin'  about  it  fur  a  good  while.  Especially 
ever  sence,  ahem  —  " 

"  Yes,"  went  on  Crofton,  "  to  be  plain  and 
more  definite,  ever  since  the  appearance  among 
you  of  Mr.  Tom  Daly,  the  agitator,  the  destroyer 
of  confidence  between  employer  and  employed, 
the  weasel  who  sucks  your  blood  and  tells  you 
that  he  is  doing  you  a  service.  You  have  dis 
covered  the  unfairness  of  your  compensation 
since  making  his  acquaintance." 

u  Well,  I  guess  he  told  us  the  truth,"  growled 
Grierson. 

"That  is  a  matter  of  opinion." 
"  But  look  what  you  all  are  earnin'." 
"  That 's  what  we  're  in  the  business  for.    We 
have  n't  left  comfortable  homes  in  the  cities  to 
come  down  to  this  hole  in  the  mountains  for  our 
health.     We  have  a  right  to  earn.     We  brought 
capital,  enterprise,  and  energy  here.     We  give 
you  work  and  pay  you  decent  wages.     It  is  none 
210 


AT   SHAFT   11 

of  your  business  what  we  earn."  The  young 
man's  voice  rose  a  little,  and  a  light  came  into 
his  calm  gray  eyes.  "  Have  you  not  been  com 
fortable  ?  Have  you  not  lived  well  and  been 
able  to  save  something  ?  Have  you  not  been 
treated  like  men  ?  What  more  do  you  want  ? 
What  real  grievance  have  you?  None.  A 
scoundrel  and  a  sneak  has  come  here,  and  for 
his  own  purposes  aroused  your  covetousness. 
But  it  is  unavailing,  and,"  turning  to  his  col 
leagues,  "  these  gentlemen  will  bear  me  out  in 
what  I  say,  —  we  will  not  raise  your  wages  one- 
tenth  of  one  penny  above  what  they  are.  We 
will  not  be  made  to  suffer  for  the  laxity  of  other 
owners,  and  if  within  three  hours  the  men  are 
not  back  at  work,  they  may  consider  themselves 
discharged."  His  voice  was  cold,  clear,  and 
ringing. 

Surprised,  disappointed,  and  abashed,  the  com 
mittee  heard  the  ultimatum,  and  then  shuffled 
out  of  the  office  in  embarrassed  silence.  It  was 
all  so  different  from  what  they  had  expected. 
They  thought  that  they  had  only  to  demand 
and  their  employers  would  accede  rather  than 
have  the  work  stop.  Labour  had  but  to  make  a 
show  of  resistance  and  capital  would  yield.  So 

211 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

they  had  been  told.  But  here  they  were,  the 
chosen  representatives  of  labour,  skulking  away 
from  the  presence  of  capital  like  felons  detected. 
Truly  this  was  a  change.  Embarrassment  gave 
way  to  anger,  and  the  miners  who  waited  the 
report  of  their  committee  received  a  highly 
coloured  account  of  the  stand-offish  way  in  which 
they  had  been  met.  If  there  had  been  anything 
lacking  to  inflame  the  rising  feelings  of  the 
labourers,  this  new  evidence  of  the  arrogance  of 
plutocrats  supplied  it,  and  with  one  voice  the 
strike  was  confirmed. 

Soon  after  the  three  hours'  grace  had  passed, 
Jason  Andrews  received  a  summons  to  the  com 
pany's  office. 

"  Andrews,"  said  young  Crofton,  "  we  have 
noticed  your  conduct  with  gratitude  since  this 
trouble  has  been  brewing.  The  other  foremen 
have  joined  the  strikers  and  gone  out.  We 
know  where  you  stand  and  thank  you  for  your 
kindness.  But  we  don't  want  it  to  end  with 
thanks.  It  is  well  to  give  the  men  a  lesson  and 
bring  them  to  their  senses,  but  the  just  must  not 
suffer  with  the  unjust.  In  less  than  two  days  the 
mine  will  be  manned  by  Negroes  with  their  own 
foreman.  We  wish  to  offer  you  a  place  in  the 
212 


AT   SHAFT   11 

office  here  at  the  same  wages  you  got  in  the 
mine." 

The  foreman  raised  his  hand  in  a  gesture  of 
protest.  "  No,  no,  Mr.  Crofton.  That  would 
look  like  I  was  profiting  by  the  folly  of  the  men. 
I  can't  do  it.  I  am  not  in  their  union,  but  I 
will  take  my  chances  as  they  take  theirs." 

"  That 's  foolish,  Andrews.  You  don't  know 
how  long  this  thing  may  last." 

"  Well,  I  Ve  got  a  snug  bit  laid  by,  and  if 
things  don't  brighten  in  time,  why,  I  '11  go 
somewhere  else." 

"  We  'd  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  but  I  want  you 
to  do  as  you  think  best.  This  change  may 
cause  trouble,  and  if  it  does,  we  shall  hope  for 
your  aid." 

"  I  am  with  you  as  long  as  you  are  in  the 
right." 

The  miner  gave  the  young  man's  hand  a 
hearty  grip  and  passed  out. 

"  Steel,"  said  Crofton  the  younger. 

"Gold,"  replied  his  partner. 

"  Well,  as  true  as  one  and  as  good  as  the 
other,  and  we  are  both  right." 

As  the  young  manager  had  said,  so  matters 
turned  out.  Within  two  days  several  car-loads 
213 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

of  Negroes  came  in  and  began  to  build  their 
huts.  With  the  true  racial  instinct  of  colonisa 
tion,  they  all  flocked  to  one  part  of  the  settle 
ment.  With  a  wisdom  that  was  not  entirely 
instinctive,  though  it  may  have  had  its  origin  in 
the  Negro's  social  inclination,  they  built  one  large 
eating-room  a  little  way  from  their  cabin  and 
up  the  mountain-side.  The  back  of  the  place 
was  the  bare  wall  of  a  sheer  cliff.  Here  their 
breakfasts  and  suppers  were  to  be  taken,  the 
midday  meal  being  eaten  in  the  mine. 

The  Negro  who  held  Jason  Andrews'  place  as 
foreman  of  Shaft  II,  the  best  yielding  of  all  the 
mines,  and  the  man  who  seemed  to  be  the 
acknowledged  leader  of  all  the  blacks,  was  known 
as  big  Sam  Bowles.  He  was  a  great  black  fel- 

o  o 

low,  with  a  hand  like  a  sledge-hammer,  but  with 
an  open,  kindly  face  and  a  voice  as  musical  as 
a  lute. 

On  the  first  morning  that  they  went  in  a 
body  to  work  in  the  mines,  they  were  assailed 
by  the  jeers  and  curses  of  the  strikers,  while 
now  and  then  a  rock  from  the  hand  of  some 
ambushed  foe  fell  among  them.  But  they  did 
not  heed  these  things,  for  they  were  expected. 

For  several  days  nothing  more  serious  than 
214 


AT   SHAFT   11 

this  happened,  but  ominous  mutterings  foretold 
the  coming  storm.  So  matters  stood  on  the 
night  that  Jason  Andrews  left  his  cabin  to  find 
out  what  was  "  up." 

He  went  on  down  the  road  until  he  reached 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  which  he  saw  to  be 
gathered  about  a  man  who  was  haranguing 
them.  The  speaker  proved  to  be  "  Red " 
Cleary,  one  of  Daly's  first  and  most  ardent 
converts.  He  had  worked  the  men  up  to  a 
high  pitch  of  excitement,  and  there  were  cries 
of,  "  Go  it,  Red,  you  're  on  the  right  track  !  " 
"  What 's  the  matter  with  Cleary  ?  He 's  all 
right !  "  and,  "  Run  the  niggers  out.  That 's 
it  !  "  On  the  edge  of  the  throng,  half  in  the 
shadow,  Jason  Andrews  listened  in  silence,  and 
his  just  anger  grew.  ' 

The  speaker  was  saying,  "What  are  we 
white  men  goin'  to  do  ?  Set  still  an'  let  niggers 
steal  the  bread  out  of  our  mouths  ?  Ain't  it 
our  duty  to  rise  up  like  free  Americans  an'  drive 
'em  from  the  place  ?  Who  dares  say  no  to 
that  ?  "  Cleary  made  the  usual  pause  for  dra 
matic  effect  and  to  let  the  incontrovertibility  of 
his  argument  sink  into  the  minds  of  his  hearers. 
The  pause  was  fatal.  A  voice  broke  the  still- 
2I5 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

ness  that  followed  his  question,  "I  do !  "  and 
Andrews  pushed  his  way  through  the  trowd  to 
the  front.  "  There  ain't  anybody  stealin'  the 
bread  out  of  our  mouths,  niggers  ner  nobody 
else.  If  men  throw  away  their  bread,  why,  a 
dog  has  the  right  to  pick  it  up." 

There  were  dissenting  murmurs,  and  Cleary 
turned  to  his  opponent  with  a  sneer.  "  Humph, 
I  'd  be  bound  for  you,  Jason  Andrews,  first  on 
the  side  of  the  bosses  and  then  takin'  up  for  the 
niggers.  Boys,  I  '11  bet  he  's  a  Republican  !  " 
A  laugh  greeted  this  sally.  The  red  mounted 
into  the  foreman's  face  and  made  his  tan  seem 
darker. 

"  I  'm  as  good  a  Democrat  as  any  of  you," 
he  said,  looking  around,  "  and  you  say  that 
again,  Red  Cleary,  and  I  '11  push  the  words 
down  your  throat  with  my  fist." 

Cleary  knew  his  man  and  turned  the  matter 
ofF.  "  We  don't  care  nothin'  about  what  party 
you  vote  with.  We  intend  to  stand  up  for  our 
rights.  Mebbe  you  've  got  something  to  say 
ag'in  that." 

"  I  've  got  something  to  say,  but  not  against 
any  man's  rights.  There  's  men  here  that  have 
known  me  and  are  honest,  and  they  will  say 
216 


AT   SHAFT    11 

whether  I  've  acted  on  the  square  or  not  since 
I  've  been  among  you.  But  there  is  right  as 
well  as  rights.  As  for  the  niggers,  I  ain't  any 
friendlier  to  'em  than  the  rest  of  you.  But  I 
ain't  the  man  to  throw  up  a  job  and  then  howl 
when  somebody  else  gets  it.  If  we  don't  want 
our  hoe-cake,  there  's  others  that  do." 

The  plain  sense  of  Andrews'  remarks  calmed 
the  men,  and  Cleary,  seeing  that  his  power  was 
gone,  moved  away  from  the  centre  of  the  crowd, 
"  I  '11  settle  with  you  later,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
passed  Jason. 

"  There  ain't  any  better  time  than  now,"  re 
plied  the  latter,  seizing  his  arm  and  drawing  him 
back. 

"  Here,  here,  don't  fight,"  cried  some  one. 
"  Go  on,  Cleary,  there  may  be  something  better 
than  a  fellow-workman  to  try  your  muscle  on 
before  long."  The  crowd  came  closer  and 
pushed  between  the  two  men.  With  many 
signs  of  reluctance,  but  willingly  withal,  Cleary 
allowed  himself  to  be  hustled  away.  The 
crowd  dispersed,  but  Jason  Andrews  knew  that 
he  had  only  temporarily  quieted  the  turmoil  in 
the  breasts  of  the  men.  It  would  break  out  very 
soon  again,  he  told  himself.  Musing  thus,  he 
217 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

took  his  homeward  way.  As  he  reached  the 
open  road  on  the  rise  that  led  to  his  cabin,  he 
heard  the  report  of  a  pistol,  and  a  shot  clipped  a 
rock  three  or  four  paces  in  front  of  him. 

u  With  the  compliments  of  Red  Cleary," 
said  Jason,  with  a  hard  laugh.  "  The  coward  !  " 

All  next  day,  an  ominous  calm  brooded  over 
the  little  mining  settlement.  The  black  work 
men  went  to  their  labours  unmolested,  and  the 
hope  that  their  hardships  were  over  sprang  up 
in  the  hearts  of  some.  But  there  were  two 
men  who,  without  being  informed,  knew  better. 
These  were  Jason  Andrews  and  big  Sam,  and 
chance  threw  the  two  together.  It  was  as  the 
black  was  returning  alone  from  the  mine  after 
the  day's  work  was  over. 

"  The  strikers  did  n't  bother  you  any  to-day, 
I  noticed,"  said  Andrews. 

Sam  Bowles  looked  at  him  with  suspicion, 
and  then,  being  reassured  by  the  honest  face 
and  friendly  manner,  he  replied :  "  No,  not 
to-day,  but  there  ain't  no  tellin'  what  they  '11 
do  to-night.  I  don't  like  no  sich  sudden 
change." 

"  You  think  something  is  brewing,  eh  ?  " 

"  It  looks  mighty  like  it,  I  tell  you." 
218 


AT   SHAFT   11 

"  Well,  I  believe  that  you  're  right,  and  you  '11 
do  well  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  all  night." 

"  I,  for  one,  won't  sleep,"  said  the  Negro. 

"  Can  you  shoot  ? "  asked  Jason. 

The  Negro  chuckled,  and,  taking  a  revolver 
from  the  bosom  of  his  blouse,  aimed  at  the  top 
of  a  pine-tree  which  had  been  grazed  by  light 
ning,  and  showed  white  through  the  fading  light 
nearly  a  hundred  yards  away.  There  was  a 
crack,  and  the  small  white  space  no  larger  than 
a  man's  hand  was  splintered  by  the  bullet. 

"  Well,  there  ain't  no  doubt  that  you  can 
shoot,  and  you  may  have  to  bring  that  gun  of 
yours  into  action  before  you  expect.  In  a  case 
like  this  it 's  your  enemy's  life  against  yours." 

Andrews  kept  on  his  way,  and  the  Negro 
turned  up  to  the  large  supper-room.  Most  of 
them  were  already  there  and  at  the  meal. 

"  Well,  boys,"  began  big  Sam,  "  you  'd  just 
as  well  get  it  out  of  your  heads  that  our  trouble 
is  over  here.  It 's  jest  like  I  told  you.  I  've 
been  talkin'  to  the  fellow  that  used  to  have  my 
place,  —  he  ain't  in  with  the  rest  of  the  strikers, 
—  an'  he  thinks  that  they  're  goin'  to  try  an' 
run  us  out  to-night.  I  'd  advise  you,  as  soon  as 
it  gets  dark-like,  to  take  what  things  you  want 
219 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

out  o'  yore  cabins  an'  bring  'em  up  here.  It 
won't  do  no  harm  to  be  careful  until  we  find 
out  what  kind  of  a  move  they  're  goin'  to 
make." 

The  men  had  stopped  eating,  and  they  stared 
at  the  speaker  with  open  mouths.  There  were 
some  incredulous  eyes  among  the  gazers,  too. 

"  I  don't  believe  they  'd  dare  come  right  out 
an'  do  anything,"  said  one. 

"  Stay  in  yore  cabin,  then,"  retorted  the 
leader  angrily. 

There  was  no  more  demur,  and  as  soon  as 
night  had  fallen,  the  Negroes  did  as  they  were 
bidden,  though  the  rude,  ill-furnished  huts  con 
tained  little  or  nothing  of  value.  Another 
precaution  taken  by  the  blacks  was  to  leave 
short  candles  burning  in  their  dwellings  so  as 
to  give  the  impression  of  occupancy.  If  noth 
ing  occurred  during  the  night,  the  lights  would 
go  out  of  themselves  and  the  enemy  would  be 
none  the  wiser  as  to  their  vigilance. 

In  the  large  assembly  room  the  men  waited 
in  silence,  some  drowsing  and  some  smoking. 
Only  one  candle  threw  its  dim  circle  of  light  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  throwing  the  remainder 
into  denser  shadow.  The  flame  flickered  and 
220 


AT   SHAFT   11 

guttered.  Its  wavering  faintness  brought  out  the 
dark  strained  faces  in  fantastic  relief,  and  gave 
a  weirdness  to  the  rolling  white  eyeballs  and 
expanded  eyes.  Two  hours  passed.  Suddenly, 
from  the  window  where  big  Sam  and  a  colleague 
were  stationed,  came  a  warning  "  S-sh  !  "  Sam 
had  heard  stealthy  steps  in  the  direction  of 
the  nearest  cabin.  The  night  was  so  black 
that  he  could  see  nothing,  but  he  felt  that 
developments  were  about  to  begin.  He 
could  hear  more  steps.  Then  the  men  heard  a 
cry  of  triumph  as  the  strikers  threw  themselves 
against  the  cabin  doors,  which  yielded  easily. 
This  was  succeeded  from  all  parts  by  ex 
clamations  of  rage  and  disappointment.  In  the 
assembly  room  the  Negroes  were  chuckling  to 
themselves.  Mr.  "  Red  "  Cleary  had  planned 
well,  but  so  had  Sam  Bowles. 

After  the  second  cry  there  was  a  pause,  as 
if  the  men  had  drawn  together  for  consultation. 
Then  some  one  approached  the  citadel  a  little 
way  and  said  :  "  If  you  niggers  '11  promise  to 
leave  here  to-morrow  morning  at  daylight,  we'll 
let  you  off  this  time.  If  you  don't,  there  won't 
be  any  of  you  to  leave  to-morrow." 

Some  of  the  blacks  were  for  promising,  but 
221 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

their  leader  turned  on  them  like  a  tiger.  "You 
would  promise,  would  you,  and  then  give  them 
a  chance  to  whip  you  out  of  the  section  !  Go, 
all  of  you  that  want  to;  but  as  for  me,  I'll  stay 
here  an'  fight  it  out  with  the  blackguards." 

The  man  who  had  spoken  from  without  had 
evidently  waited  for  an  answer.  None  coming, 
his  footsteps  were  heard  retreating,  and  then, 
without  warning,  there  was  a  rattling  fusillade. 
Some  of  the  shots  crashed  through  the  thin  pine 
boarding,  and  several  men  were  grazed.  One 
struck  the  man  who  stood  at  big  Sam's  side  at 
the  window.  The  blood  splashed  into  the 
black  leader's  face,  and  his  companion  sunk  to 
the  floor  with  a  groan.  Sam  Bowles  moved 
from  the  window  a  moment  and  wiped  the 
blood  drops  from  his  cheek.  He  looked  down 
upon  the  dead  man  as  if  the  deed  had  dazed 
him.  Then,  with  a  few  sharp  commands,  he 
turned  again  to  the  window. 

Some  over-zealous  fool  among  the  strikers 
had  fired  one  of  the  huts,  and  the  growing  flames 
discovered  their  foes  to  the  little  garrison. 

"  Put  out  that  light,"  ordered  big  Sam.  "  All 
of  you  that  can,  get  to  the  two  front  windows  — 
you,  Toliver,  an'  you,  Moten,  here  with  me. 
222 


AT   SHAFT   11 

All  the  rest  of  you  lay  flat  on  the  floor.  Now, 
as  soon  as  that  light  gets  bright,  pick  out  yore 
man,  —  don't  waste  a  shot,  now  —  fire  !  "  Six 
pistols  spat  fire  out  into  the  night.  There  were 
cries  of  pain  and  the  noise  of  scurrying  feet  as 
the  strikers  fled  pell-mell  out  of  range. 

"  Now,  down  on  the  floor  ! "  commanded 
Sam. 

The  order  came  not  a  moment  too  soon,  for 
an  answering  volley  of  shots  penetrated  the  walls 
and  passed  harmlessly  over  the  heads  of  those 
within.  Meanwhile,  some  one  seeing  the  mis 
take  of  the  burning  cabin  had  ordered  it  extin 
guished  ;  but  this  could  not  be  done  without  the 
workmen  being  exposed  to  the  fire  from  the 
blacks'  citadel.  So  there  was  nothing  to  do 
save  to  wait  until  the  shanty  had  burned  down. 
The  dry  pine  was  flaming  brightly  now,  and  lit 
up  the  scene  with  a  crimson  glare.  The  great 
rocks  and  the  rugged  mountain-side,  with  patches 
of  light  here  and  there  contrasting  with  the 
deeper  shadows,  loomed  up  threatening  and 
terrible,  and  the  fact  that  behind  those  boulders 
lay  armed  men  thirsty  for  blood  made  the  scene 
no  less  horrible. 

In  his  cabin,  farther  up  the  mountain  side, 
223 


Jason  Andrews  had  heard  the  shouts  and  firing, 
seen  the  glare  of  the  burning  cabin  through  his 
window,  and  interpreted  it  aright.  He  rose  and 
threw  on  his  coat. 

"Jason,"  said  his  wife,  "  don't  go  down  there. 
It 's  none  of  your  business." 

"  I  'm  not  going  down  there,  Kate,"  he  said ; 
"  but  I  know  my  duty  and  have  got  to  do  it." 

The  nearest  telegraph  office  was  a  mile  away 
from  his  cabin.  Thither  Jason  hurried.  He 
entered,  and,  seizing  a  blank,  began  to  write 
rapidly,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  voice  of 
the  operator,  "  It 's  no  use,  Andrews,  the  wires 
are  cut."  The  foreman  stopped  as  if  he  had 
been  struck ;  then,  wheeling  around,  he  started 
for  the  door  just  as  Crofton  came  rushing  in. 

"  Ah,  Andrews,  it 's  you,  is  it  ?  —  and  before 
me.  Have  you  telegraphed  for  troops  ? " 

"  It 's  no  use,  Mr.  Crofton,  the  wires  are  cut." 

"  My  God !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
"  what  is  to  be  done  ?  I  did  not  think  they 
would  go  to  this  length." 

"  We  must  reach  the  next  station  and  wire 
from  there." 

"  But  it 's  fifteen  miles  away  on  a  road  where 
a  man  is  liable  to  break  his  neck  at  any  minute." 
224 


AT   SHAFT   11 

"  I  '11  risk  it,  but  I  must  have  a  horse." 

"  Take  mine.  He  's  at  the  door,  —  God 
speed  you."  With  the  word,  Jason  was  in  the 
saddle  and  away  like  the  wind. 

"  He  can't  keep  that  pace  on  the  bad 
ground,"  said  young  Crofton,  as  he  turned 
homeward. 

At  the  centre  of  strife  all  was  still  quiet.  The 
fire  had  burned  low,  and  what  remained  of  it 
cast  only  a  dull  light  around.  The  assailants 
began  to  prepare  again  for  action. 

"  Here,  some  one  take  my  place  at  the  win 
dow,"  said  Sam.  He  left  his  post,  crept  to  the 
door  and  opened  it  stealthily,  and,  dropping  on 
his  hands  and  knees,  crawled  out  into  the  dark 
ness.  In  less  than  five  minutes  he  was  back 
and  had  resumed  his  station.  His  face  was 
expressionless.  No  one  knew  what  he  had  done 
until  a  new  flame  shot  athwart  the  darkness,  and 
at  sight  of  it  the  strikers  burst  into  a  roar  of  rage. 
Another  cabin  was  burning,  and  the  space  about 
for  a  hundred  yards  was  as  bright  as  day.  In 
the  added  light,  two  or  three  bodies  were  dis 
tinguishable  upon  the  ground,  showing  that  the 
shots  of  the  blacks  had  told.  With  deep  chagrin 
the  strikers  saw  that  they  could  do  nothing  while 
15  225 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

the  light  lasted.  It  was  now  nearly  midnight, 
and  the  men  were  tired  and  cramped  in  their 
places.  They  dared  not  move  about  much,  for 
every  appearance  of  an  arm  or  a  leg  brought  a 
shot  from  the  besieged.  Oh  for  the  darkness, 
that  they  might  advance  and  storm  the  strong 
hold  !  Then  they  could  either  overpower  the 
blacks  by  force  of  numbers,  or  set  fire  to  the 
place  that  held  them  and  shoot  them  down  as 
they  tried  to  escape.  Oh  for  darkness  ! 

As  if  the  Powers  above  were  conspiring  against 
the  unfortunates,  the  clouds,  which  had  been 
gathering  dark  and  heavy,  now  loosed  a  down 
pour  of  rain  which  grew  fiercer  and  fiercer  as 
the  thunder  crashed  down  from  the  mountains 
echoing  and  re-echoing  back  and  forth  in  the 
valley.  The  lightning  tore  vivid,  zigzag  gashes 
in  the  inky  sky.  The  fury  of  the  storm  burst 
suddenly,  and  before  the  blacks  could  realise 
what  was  happening,  the  torrent  had  beaten 
the  fire  down,  and  the  way  between  them  and 
their  enemies  lay  in  darkness.  The  strikers  gave 
a  cheer  that  rose  even  over  the  thunder. 

As  the  young  manager  had  said,  the  road  over 
which  Jason  had  to  travel  was  a  terrible   one. 
226 


AT   SHAFT   11 

It  was  rough,  uneven,  and  treacherous  to  the  step 
even  in  the  light  of  day.  But  the  brave  man 
urged  his  horse  on  at  the  best  possible  speed. 
When  he  was  half-way  to  his  destination,  a  sud 
den  drop  in  the  road  threw  the  horse  and  he 
went  over  the  animal's  head.  He  felt  a  sharp 
pain  in  his  arm,  and  he  turned  sick  and  dizzy, 
but,  scrambling  to  his  feet,  he  mounted,  seized 
the  reins  in  one  hand,  and  was  away  again.  It 
was  half-past  twelve  when  he  staggered  into  the 
telegraph  office.  "  Wire  —  quick  ! "  he  gasped. 
The  operator  who  had  been  awakened  from  a 
nap  by  the  clatter  of  the  horse's  hoofs,  rubbed 
his  eyes  and  seized  a  pencil  and  blank. 

"  Troops  at  once  —  for  God's  sake  —  troops 
at  once  —  Crofton's  mine  riot  —  murder  being 
done  !  "  and  then,  his  mission  being  over,  nature 
refused  longer  to  resist  the  strain  and  Jason 
Andrews  swooned. 

His  telegram  had  been  received  at  Wheeling, 
and  another  ordering  the  instant  despatch  of  the 
nearest  militia,  who  had  been  commanded  to 
sleep  in  their  armories  in  anticipation  of  some 
such  trouble,  before  a  physician  had  been 
secured  for  Andrews.  His  arm  was  set  and  he 
was  put  to  bed.  But,  loaded  on  flat-cars  and 
227 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

whatever  else  came  handy,  the  troops  were  on 
their  way  to  the  scene  of  action. 

While  this  was  going  on,  the  Negroes  had 
grown  disheartened.  The  light  which  had  dis 
closed  to  them  their  enemy  had  been  extin 
guished,  and  under  cover  of  the  darkness  and 
storm  they  knew  their  assailants  would  again 
advance.  Every  flash  of  lightning  showed  them 
the  men  standing  boldly  out  from  their  shelter. 

Big  Sam  turned  to  his  comrades.  "  Never  say 
die,  boys,"  he  said.  "  We  've  got  jest  one  more 
chance  to  scatter  'em.  If  we  can't  do  it,  it 's 
hand  to  hand  with  twice  our  number.  Some  of 
you  lay  down  on  the  floor  here  with  your  faces 
jest  as  clost  to  the  door  as  you  can.  Now  some 
more  of  you  kneel  jest  above.  Now  above  them 
some  of  you  bend,  while  the  rest  stand  up. 
Pack  that  door  full  of  gun  muzzles  while  I  watch 
things  outside."  The  men  did  as  he  directed,  and 
he  was  silent  for  a  while.  Then  he  spoke  again 
softly:  "Now  they  're  comin'.  When  I  say 
'Ready ! '  open  the  door,  and  as  soon  as  a  flash  of 
lightning  shows  you  where  they  are,  let  them 
have  it." 

They  waited  breathlessly. 

"  Now,  readv  !  " 

228 


AT   SHAFT   11 

The  door  was  opened,  and  a  moment  there 
after  the  glare  of  the  lightning  was  followed  by 
another  flash  from  the  doorway.  Groans,  shrieks, 
and  curses  rang  out  as  the  assailants  scampered 
helter-skelter  back  to  their  friendly  rocks,  leaving 
more  of  their  dead  upon  the  ground  behind  them. 

"  That  was  it,"  said  Sam.  "  That  will  keep 
them  in  check  for  a  while.  If  we  can  hold  'em 
off  until  daybreak,  we  are  safe." 

The  strikers  were  now  angry  and  sore  and 
wet  through.  Some  of  them  were  wounded. 
"  Red  "  Cleary  himself  had  a  bullet  through  his 
shoulder.  But  his  spirits  were  not  daunted,  al 
though  six  of  his  men  lay  dead  upon  the  ground. 
A  long  consultation  followed  the  last  unsuccess 
ful  assault.  At  last  Cleary  said :  "  Well,  it 
won't  do  any  good  to  stand  here  talkin'.  It 's 
gettin'  late,  an'  if  we  don't  drive  'em  out  to-night, 
it 's  all  up  with  us  an'  we  'd  jest  as  well  be  lookin' 
out  fur  other  diggin's.  We  Ve  got  to  crawl  up 
as  near  as  we  can  an'  then  rush  'em.  It 's  the 
only  way,  an'  what  we  ought  to  done  at  first. 
Get  down  on  your  knees.  Never  mind  the 
mud — better  have  it  under  you  than  over  you." 
The  men  sank  down,  and  went  creeping  forward 
like  a  swarm  of  great  ponderous  vermin.  They 
229 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

had  not  gone  ten  paces  when  some  one  said, 
"  Tsch  !  what  is  that  ?  "  They  stopped  where 
they  were.  A  sound  came  to  their  ears.  It 
was  the  laboured  puffing  of  a  locomotive  as  it 
tugged  up  the  incline  that  led  to  the  settlement. 
Then  it  stopped.  Within  the  room  they  had 
heard  it,  too,  and  there  was  as  great  suspense 
as  without. 

With  his  ear  close  to  the  ground,  "  Red " 
Cleary  heard  the  tramp  of  marching  men,  and 
he  shook  with  fear.  His  fright  was  communi 
cated  to  the  others,  and  with  one  accord  they 
began  creeping  back  to  their  hiding-places. 
Then,  with  a  note  that  was  like  the  voice  of 
God  to  the  besieged,  through  the  thunder  and 
rain,  a  fife  took  up  the  strains  of  "  Yankee 
Doodle "  accompanied  by  the  turn-turn  of  a 
sodden  drum.  This  time  a  cheer  went  up  from 
within  the  room,  —  a  cheer  that  directed  the 
steps  of  the  oncoming  militia. 

"  It 's  all  up  !  "  cried  Cleary,  and,  emptying 
his  pistol  at  the  wood  fort,  he  turned  and  fled. 
His  comrades  followed  suit.  A  bullet  pierced 
Sam  Bowles's  wrist.  But  he  did  not  mind  it. 
He  was  delirious  with  joy.  The  militia  ad 
vanced  and  the  siege  was  lifted.  Out  into  the 
230 


AT   SHAFT   11 

storm  rushed  the  happy  blacks  to  welcome  and 
help  quarter  their  saviours.  Some  of  the  Negroes 
were  wounded,  and  one  dead,  killed  at  the  first 
fire.  Tired  as  the  men  were,  they  could  not 
sleep,  and  morning  found  them  still  about  their1 
fires  talking  over  the  night's  events.  It  found 
also  many  of  the  strikers  missing  besides  those 
who  lay  stark  on  the  hillside. 

For  the  next  few  days  the  militia  took  charge 
of  affairs.  Some  of  the  strikers  availed  them 
selves  of  the  Croftons'  clemency,  and  went  back 
to  work  along  with  the  blacks;  others  moved 
away. 

When  Jason  Andrews  was  well  enough  to  be 
moved,  he  came  back.  The  Croftons  had  al 
ready  told  of  his  heroism,  and  he  was  the  admi 
ration  of  white  and  black  alike.  He  has  general 
charge  now  of  all  the  Crofton  mines,  and  his 
assistant  and  stanch  friend  is  big  Sam. 


THE    DELIBERATION 
OF    MR.    BUSKIN 


233 


THE   DELIBERATION   OF 
MR.   DUNKIN 

MILTONVILLE  had  just  risen  to  the  dignity  of 
being  a  school  town.  Now,  to  the  uninitiated 
and  unconcerned  reader  this  may  appear  to  be 
the  most  unimportant  statement  in  the  world  ; 
but  one  who  knows  Miltonville,  and  realises  all 
the  facts  in  the  case,  will  see  that  the  simple 
remark  is  really  fraught  with  mighty  import. 

When  for  two  years  a  growing  village  has  had 
to  crush  its  municipal  pride  and  send  its  knowl 
edge-seeking  youth  to  a  rival  town  two  miles 
away,  when  that  rival  has  boasted  and  vaunted 
its  superiority,  when  a  listless  school-board  has 
been  unsuccessfully  prodded,  month  after  month, 
then  the  final  decision  in  favour  of  the  institution 
and  the  renting  of  a  room  in  which  to  establish  it 
is  no  small  matter.  And  now  Fox  Run,  with  its 
most  plebeian  name  but  arrogantly  aristocratic 
community,  could  no  longer  look  down  upon 
Miltonville. 

235 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

The  coloured  population  of  this  town  was 
sufficiently  large  and  influential  to  merit  their 
having  a  member  on  the  school-board.  But  Mr. 
Dunkin,  the  incumbent,  had  found  no  employ 
ment  for  his  energies  until  within  the  last  two 
months,  when  he  had  suddenly  entered  the  school 
fight  with  unwonted  zest.  Now  it  was  an  assured 
thing,  and  on  Monday  Miss  Callena  Johnson  was 
to  start  the  fountain  of  knowledge  a-going.  This 
in  itself  was  enough  to  set  the  community  in  a 
commotion. 

Much  had  been  heard  of  Miss  Callena  before 
she  had  been  selected  as  the  guiding  genius  of  the 
new  venture.  She  had  even  visited  Fox  Run, 
which  prided  itself  greatly  on  the  event.  Flat 
tering  rumours  were  afloat  in  regard  to  her  beauty 
and  brilliancy.  She  was  from  Lexington.  What 
further  recommendation  as  to  her  personal 
charms  did  she  need  ?  She  was  to  come  in  on 
Saturday  evening,  and  as  the  railroad  had  not 
deigned  to  come  nearer  to  Miltonville  than  Fox 
Run  station,  —  another  thorn  in  tire  side  of  the 
Miltonvillians,  —  Mr.  Dunkin,  as  the  important 
official  in  the  affair,  was  delegated  to  go  and 
bring  the  fair  one  into  her  kingdom. 

Now,  Mr.  Dunkin  was  a  man  of  deliberation. 
236 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

He  prided  himself  upon  that.  He  did  nothing 
in  a  hurry.  Nothing  came  from  him  without 
due  forethought.  So,  in  this  case,  before  going 
for  Miss  Callena,  he  visited  Mr.  Alonzo  Taft. 
Who  was  Mr.  Taft  ?  Of  course  you  have 
never  been  to  Miltonville  or  you  would  never 
have  asked  that  question.  Mr.  Alonzo  Taft 
was  valet  to  Major  Richardson,  who  lived  in  the 
great  house  on  the  hill  overlooking  the  town. 
He  not  only  held  this  distinguished  position  in 
that  aristocratic  household,  but  he  was  the  black 
beau  ideal  and  social  mentor  for  all  the  town. 

Him,  then,  did  Mr.  Dunkin  seek,  and  deliv 
ered  himself  as  follows  :  "  Mistah  Tat',  you 
reco'nise  de  dooty  dat  is  laid  upon  me  by  bein' 
a  membah  of  de  school-boa'd.  I  has  got  to  go 
to  de  depot  aftah  Miss  Callena  Johnson  to 
morrow  aftahnoon.  Now,  Mistah  Taf,  I  is  a 
delibut  man  myse'f.  I  is  mighty  keerful  what  I 
does  an'  how  I  does  it.  As  you  know,  I  ain't 
no  man  fu'  society,  an'  conserkently  I  is  not 
convusant  wid  some  of  de  manipulations  of 
comp'ny.  So  I  t'ought  I  'd  come  an'  ax  yo' 
advice  about  sev'al  t'ings,  —  what  to  waih,  an' 
which  side  o'  de  wagon  to  have  Miss  Callena 
on,  an'  how  to  he'p  huh  in,  an'  so  fofe." 
237 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  Why,  of  co'se,  Mr.  Dunkin,"  said  the 
elegant  Alonzo,  "  I  shell  be  happy  to  adminis- 
tah  any  instructions  to  you  dat  lies  within  my 
powah." 

Mr.  Taft  was  a  perfect  second  edition  of 
Major  Richardson  bound  in  black  hide. 

"  But,"  he  went  on  in  a  tone  of  dignified 
banter,  "  we  shell  have  to  keep  a  eye  on  you 
prosp'ous  bachelors.  You  maybe  castin'  sheep- 
eye*  at  Miss  Callena." 

u  Dat  'u'd  be  mo'  nachul  an'  fittener  in  a 
young  man  lak  you,"  said  Mr.  Dunkin,  delib 
erately. 

"  Oh,  I  has  been  located  in  my  affections  too 
long  to  lif  anchor  now." 

"  You  don'  say,"  said  the  "  prosp'ous  bache 
lor,"  casting  a  quick  glance  at  the  speaker. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  suh." 

So  they  chatted  on,  and  in  the  course  of  time 
the  deliberate  Dunkin  got  such  information  as 
he  wished,  and  departed  in  the  happy  conscious 
ness  that  on  the  morrow  he  should  do  the  proper 
and  only  the  proper  thing. 

After  he  was  gone,  Alonzo  Taft  rubbed  his 
chin  and  mused :  "  I  wonder  what  ol'  man 
Dunkin  's  got  in  his  head.  Dey  say  he 's  too 
238 


DELIBERATION    OF   MR.    DUNKIN 

slow  an'  thinks  too  long  evah  to  git  married. 
But  you  watch  dem  thinkin'  people  when  dey 
do  make  up  deir  minds." 

On  the  morrow,  when  Mr.  Dunkin  went 
forth,  he  outshone  Solomon  in  all  his  glory. 
When  he  came  back,  the  eyes  of  all  the  town 
saw  Miss  Callena  Johnson,  beribboned  and 
smiling,  sitting  on  his  right  and  chatting  away 
vivaciously.  As  to  her  looks,  the  half  had  not 
been  told.  As  to  her  manners,  those  smiles  and 
head-tossings  gave  promise  of  unheard-of  graces, 
and  the  hearts  of  all  Miltonville  throbbed  as  one. 

Alonzo  Taft  was  lounging  carelessly  on  the 
corner  as  the  teacher  and  her  escort  passed 
along.  He  raised  his  hat  to  them  with  that 
sweeping,  graceful  gesture  which  was  known  to 
but  two  men  in  that  vicinity,  himself  and  Major 
Richardson.  After  some  hesitation  as  to  which 
hand  should  retain  the  reins,  Mr.  Dunkin  re 
turned  the  salute. 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  and  universal 
calling-day  in  Miltonville,  Eli  Thompson's 
house,  where  Miss  Callena  had  taken  up  her 
abode,  was  filled  with  guests.  All  the  beaux  in 
town  were  there,  resplendent  in  their  Sunday 
best.  Many  a  damsel  sat  alone  that  afternoon 
239 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

whose  front  room  no  Sunday  before  had  seen 
untenanted.  Mr.  Taft  was  there,  and  also  one 
who  came  early  and  stayed  late,  —  Mr.  Dunkin. 
The  younger  men  thought  that  he  was  rather 
overplaying  his  role  of  school  trustee.  He  was 
entirely  too  conscientious  as  to  his  duty  to 
Miss  Callena.  What  the  young  beaux  wanted 
to  know  was  whether  it  was  entirely  in  his  official 
position  that  he  sat  so  long  with  Miss  Callena 
that  first  Sabbath. 

On  Monday  morning  the  school  opened  with 
great  eclat.  There  were  exercises.  The  trustee 
was  called  upon  to  make  a  speech,  and,  as  speech- 
making  is  the  birthright  of  his  race,  acquitted 
himself  with  credit.  The  teacher  was  seen  to 
smile  at  him  as  he  sat  down. 

Now,  under  ordinary  circumstances  a  smile 
is  a  small  thing.  It  is  given,  taken,  and  for 
gotten  all  in  a  moment.  At  other  times  it  is 
the  keynote  to  the  tragedy  or  comedy  of  a  life. 
Miss  Callena's  smile  was  like  an  electric  spark 
setting  fire  to  a  whole  train  of  combustibles. 
Those  who  saw  it  marvelled  and  told  their 
neighbours,  and  their  neighbours  asked  them  what 
it  meant.  Before  night,  that  smile  and  all  the 
import  it  might  carry  was  the  town's  talk. 
240 


DELIBERATION    OF   MR.    DUNKIN 

Alonzo  Taft  had  seen  it.  Unlike  the  others, 
he  said  nothing  to  his  neighbours.  He  questioned 
himself  only.  To  him  that  smile  meant  famil 
iarity,  good-fellowship,  and  a  thorough  mutual 
understanding.  He  looked  into  the  dark,  danc 
ing  eyes  of  Miss  Callena,  and  in  spite  of  his 
statement  of  a  few  days  ago  that  he  had 
been  located  too  long  to  "IIP  anchor,"  he  felt 
a  pang  at  his  heart  that  was  like  the  first  stab 
of  jealousy.  So  he  was  deeply  interested  that 
evening  when  Maria,  his  fellow-servant,  told 
him  that  Mr.  Dunkin  was  waiting  to  see  him. 
He  hurried  through  with  his  work,  even  leaving 
a  speck  of  lint  on  the  major's  coat, —  an  un 
precedented  thing, —  and  hastened  down  to  his 
guest. 

A  look  of  great  seriousness  and  determination 
was  fixed  upon  the  features  of  the  "prosp'ous 
bachelor  "  as  his  host  made  his  appearance  and 
invited  him  up  to  his  room. 

Mr.  Dunkin  was  well  seated  and  had  his  pipe" 
going  before  he  began :  "  Mistah  Taf ',  I  allus 
has  'lowed  dat  you  was  a  sensible  young  man 
an'  a  pu'son  of  mo'  dan  o'dina'y  intel'gence." 

"  You  flattah  me,  Mistah  Dunkin,  you  flattah 
me,  suh." 

16  241 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"Now  I's  a  man,  Mistah  Taf ',  dat  don't 
do  nuffin'  in  a  hu'y.  I  don'  mek  up  my  min' 
quick  'bout  myse'f  ner  'bout  othah  people.  But 
when  my  min'  is  made  up,  it 's  made  up.  Now 
I  come  up  hyeah  to  cornfide  in  you  'bout  some- 
p'n'.  I  was  mighty  glad  to  hyeah  you  say  de 
othah  day  dat  yo'  'fections  was  done  sot  an' 
located,  because  hit  meks  me  free  to  talk  to  you 
'bout  a  mattah,  seein'  dat  hit 's  a  mattah  of  my 
own  'fections." 

"  This  is  ve'y  int'rustin',  Mistah  Dunkin ;  go 
on." 

"  I 's  a-cornfidin'  in  you  because  you  is  a 
young  man  of  presentment  an'  knows  jes'  how 
to  pu'sue  a  co'se  of  cou'tin'.  I  unnerstan'  dat 
you  is  ingaged  to  Miss  Marfy  Madison." 

Mr.  Taft  smiled  with  a  sudden  accession  of 
modesty,  either  real  or  assumed. 

"  Now,  I  ain't  nevah  had  no  experunce  in 
cou'tin'  ladies,  because  I  nevah  'spected  to  ma'y. 
But  hit 's  nachul  dat  a  man  should  change  his 
min',  Mistah  Taf,  'specially  'bout  sich  a  mattah 
as  matermony." 

"  Nothin'  mo'  nachul  in  de  world." 

"  So,  when  I  seed  dat  it  was  pos'ble  to  bring 
sich  a  young  lady  as  I  hyeahed  Miss  Callena 
242 

, 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

Johnson  was,  to  Miltonville,  by  jes'  havin'  a 
school,  I  wo'ks  to  have  de  school." 

"  Oh,  dat  's  de  reason  you  commence  to  tek 
sich  a  int'rus',  huh !  "  The  expression  slipped 
from  Alonzo's  lips. 

"  Don'  narrow  me  down,  Mistah  TaP,  don' 
narrow  me  down !  Dat  was  one  o'  de  rea 
sons.  Howsomevah,  we  has  de  school  an' 
Miss  Callena  is  hyeah.  So  fa'  my  wo'k  is 
good.  But  I  'low  dat  no  man  dat  ain't  ex- 
perunced  in  cou'tin'  ort  to  tek  de  'sponsibility 
alone." 

"  Of  co'se  not !  "  said  Alonzo. 

"  So  I  t'ought  I  'd  ax  you  to  he'p  me  by 
drappin'  roun'  to  Miss  Callena's  'casionally  an' 
puttin'  in  a  word  fu'  me.  I  unnerstan'  dat 
women-folks  laks  to  hyeah  'bout  de  man  dat 's 
cou'tin'  dem,  f 'om  de  outside.  Now,  you  kin 
be  of  gret  suhvice  to  me,  an'  you  won't  lose 
nothin'  by  it.  Jes'  manage  to  let  Miss  Callena 
know  'bout  my  propity,  an'  'bout  my  hogs  an* 
my  hosses  an'  my  chickens,  an'  dat  I 's  buyin' 
mo'  Ian'.  Drap  it  kind  o'  delikit  lak.  Don' 
mention  my  name  too  often.  Will  you  he'p 
me  out  dat-away  ?  " 

"  W'y,  co'se  I  will,  Mr.  Dunkin.  It  '11  gi' 
243 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

me  gret  pleasuah  to  he'p  you  in  dis  way,  an'  I  '11 
be  jes'  as  delikit  as  anybody  kin." 

"Dat's  right;    dat 's  right." 

"  I  won't  mention  yo'  name  too  much." 

"  Dat 's  right." 

"I  '11  jes'  hint  an'  hint  an'  hint." 

"  Dat 's  right.  You  jes'  got  it  right  ezactly, 
an'  you  sha'n't  lose  nothin'  by  it,  I  tell  you." 

The  "  prosp'ous  bachelor  "  rose  in  great  ela-  / 
tion,  and  shook  Mr.  Taft's  hand  vigorously  as  he  /' 
departed. 

"  Miss  Marfy,  Miss  Callena :  Miss  Callena, 
Miss  Marfy,"  repeated  Mr.  Tart,  as  he  stood 
musing  after  his  visitor  had  gone. 

It  may  have  been  zeal  in  the  cause  of  his 
good  friend,  or  it  may  have  been  some  very 
natural  desire  for  appreciation  of  his  own  merits, 
that  prompted  Alonzo  Taft  to  dress  with  such 
extreme  care  for  his  visit  to  Miss  Callena 
Johnson  on  the  next  night.  He  did  explain 
his  haste  to  make  the  call  by  telling  him 
self  that  if  he  was  going  to  do  anything  for 
Mr.  Dunkin  he  had  better  be  about  it.  But 
this  anxiety  on  his  protege's  account  did  not 
explain  why  he  put  on  his  fawn-coloured  waist 
coat,  which  he  had  never  once  worn  when  visit- 
244 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

ing  Miss  Martha,  nor  why  he  needed  to  be  so 
extraordinarily  long  in  tying  his  bow  tie.  His 
beaver  was  rubbed  and  caressed  until  it  shone 
again.  Major  Richardson  himself  had  not 
looked  better  in  that  blue  Prince  Albert  coat, 
when  it  was  a  year  newer.  Thus  arrayed, 
stepping  manfully  and  twirling  a  tiny  cane, 
did  the  redoubtable  Mr.  Taft  set  out  for  the 
conquest  of  Miss  Callena  Johnson.  It  is  just 
possible  that  it  was  Alonzo's  absorption  in  his 
own  magnificence  that  made  him  forgetfully 
walk  down  the  very  street  on  which  Miss 
Martha  Madison's  cottage  was  situated.  Miss 
Martha  was  at  the  gate.  He  looked  up  and 
saw  her,  but  too  late  to  retreat. 

"  La  !  Mistah  Taf ',"  said  Miss  Martha,  smil 
ing  as  she  opened  the  gate  for  him.  "I  wasn't 
expectin'  you  dis  evenin'.  Walk  right  in." 

"I  —  I  —  I  —  thank  you,  Miss  Marfy,  thank 
you,"  replied  the  dark  beau,  a  bit  confused  but 
stepping  through  the  gateway.  "It's  a  mighty 
fine  evenin'  we're  havin'." 

"  I  don't  wunner  you  taken  yo'se'f  out  fu'  a 

walk.      I   was  thinkin'   'bout  goin'   out  myse'f 

ontwell   I   seen  you  comin'   along.     You   mus' 

'a'  been  mighty  tuk  up  wif  de  weathah,  'cause 

245 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

you  hahdly  knowed  when  you  got  to  de  gate.  I 
thought  you  was  a-goin'  to  pass  on  by." 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't  pass  dis  gate.  I  'm  so  used 
to  comin'  hyeah  dat  I  reckon  my  feet  'u'd  jes' 
tu'n  up  de  walk  of  dey  own  accord." 

"  Dey  did  n't  tu'n  up  dat  walk  much  Sun 
day.  Whaih  was  you  all  day  aftah  mo'nin' 
chu'ch  ?  I  'spected  you  up  in  de  aft'noon." 

« I  —  I  —  would  'a'  been  "  —  Mr.  Taft  was 
beginning  to  writhe  upon  his  chair  — "  but  I 
had  to  go  out  to  mek  some  calls." 

"Oh,  yes"  retorted  Miss  Martha,  good-na 
turedly,  "  I  reckon  you  was  one  o'  dem  gent'mans 
dat  was  settin'  up  at  de  schoolteachah's  house." 

"  I  fu'  one  was  callin'  on  Miss  Callena.  Hit 's 
only  propah  when  a  strange  lady  come  to  town 
fu'  de  gent'men  to  call  an'  pay  deir  'spects." 

"  I  reckon  hit  ain't  propah  fu'  de  gent'mans 
to  tek  none  o'  de  ladies  to  call." 

"  I  ain't  'scussin'  dat,"  said  Mr.  Taft,  with 
some  acerbity. 

"  Of  co'se  you  ain't.  Well,  hit  ain't  none 
o'  my  bus'ness,  to  be  sho.  I  ain't  thinkin' 
nothin'  'bout  myse'f  or  none  o'  de  things  you 
been  sayin'  to  me.  But  all  I  got  to  say 
is,  you  bettah  leave  Miss  Callena,  as  you  call 
246 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

huh,  alone,  'cause  evahbody  say  ol'  man  Dunkin 
got  his  eyes  sot  on  huh,  an'  he  gwine  to  win. 
Dey  do  say,  too,  dat  he  outsot  you  all,  Sunday." 

Nothing  could  have  hurt  Alonzo  Taft's  pride 
more  than  this,  or  more  thoroughly  aroused  his 
dignity. 

"  Ef  I  wanted  Miss  Callena  Johnson,"  he  said, 
"  I  would  n't  stan'  back  fu'  nobody  like  ol'  man 
Dunkin." 

"  I  reckon  you  would  n't,  but  you  might  set 
in  an'  git  jes'  nachully  sot  back  ;"  and  Martha 
laughed  maliciously. 

"  I  ain't  boastin'  'bout  what  I  could  do  ef  I 
had  a  min'  to,  but  I  'low  ef  I  wan'ed  to  set  my 
cap  fu'  any  young  lady,  I  would  n't  be  feared  o* 
no  ol'  man  dat  don't  know  nothin'  but  hogs  an' 
chickens." 

"  Nevah  min' !  Dem  hogs  an'  chickens 
fetches  money,  an'  dat's  what  yo'  fine  city  ladies 
wants,  an'  don't  you  fu'git  it." 

"  Money  ain't  a-gwine  to  mek  no  ol'  man 
young." 

"  De  ol'  man  wa'n't  too  ol'  to  outset  you 
all  young  men  anyhow." 

"  Dey 's  somep'n'  mo'  to  cou'tin'  'sides 
settin'." 

247 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  Yes,  but  a  long  set  an'  a  long  pocket  is 
mighty  big  evidence." 

"  I  don't  keer  ef  it  is.  Wha  —  what 's  de  use 
of  argyin'?  I  do' want  Miss  Callena  nohow  — 
I  do'  want  huh." 

"  You  stahted  de  argyment ;  I  did  n't  staht  it. 
You  ain  't  goin',  is  you  ?  " 

"  I  got  to  go,"  said  Alonzo,  with  his  hand  on 
the  door-knob ;  "  I  done  ovahstayed  my  time  now." 

"  Whaih  you  gwine  to  ?  " 

"I  —  I  —  oh,  I  'm  goin'  down  de  street. 
Don'  ax  whaih  I  'm  a-goin'  to,  Miss  Marfy  ;  it 
ain't  good  raisin'." 

"  I  unnerstan'  you,  'Lonzo  Xaf '.  I  unner- 
stood  you  when  you  fus'  come  in,  all  rigged  out 
in  yo'  fines'  clothes.  You  did  'n'  'low  to  stop 
hyeah  nohow.  You  gwine  down  to  see  dat 
teachah,  dat 's  whaih  you  gwine." 

"  Well,  s'posin'  I  am,  s'posin'  I  am  ?  " 

"  Well,  s'posin'  you  is,"  repeated  Miss 
Martha.  "  Why,  go  on.  But  I  hope  you 
won't  run  acrost  ol'  man  Dunkin  ag'in  an'  git 
outsot." 

"  I    ain't  afeard    o'  runnin'  acrost    ol'    man 
Dunkin,"  said  Alonzo,  as  he  went  out ;  and  he 
smiled   an   inscrutable  smile. 
248 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

Martha  watched  him  as  he  went  down  the 
street  and  faded  into  the  darkness.  Then  she 
went  in  and  locked  her  door. 

"  I  don't  keer,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  don't 
keer  a  bit.  Ef  he  wants  huh,  he  kin  go  'long 
an'  git  huh.  I 'low  she'll  be  glad  enough  to 
have  him.  I  ain't  gwine  to  try  an'  hoi"  him  a 
bit."  Then,  to  fortify  her  resolution,  she  buried 
her  face  in  her  apron  and  sobbed  out  the  fulness 
of  her  heart. 

Mr.  Taft's  good-humour  and  gallantry  came 
back  to  him  as  he  knocked  at  Eli  Thompson's 
door  and  asked  for  the  teacher.  Yes,  she  was 
in,  and  came  smiling  into  the  front  room  to  see 
him.  He  carefully  picked  his  phrases  of  greet 
ing,  shook  her  hand  gently,  and  hoped  that  she 
was  enjoying  good  health. 

Alonzo  rather  prided  himself  on  the  elegance 
of  his  conversation.  His  mind  rebelled  against 
the  idea  of  having  to  talk  hogs  to  this  divine 
creature,  and  for  some  one  else  besides. 

"  Reely,  Miss  Callena,  I  do'  know  as  de 
gent'men  ought  to  bothah  you  by  callin'  'roun* 
in  de  evenin'.  Haid  wo'k  is  so  hahd  dat  aftah 
yo'  dooties  endurin'  de  day  you  mus'  be  mos' 
nigh  wo'  out  when  night  comes." 
249 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  you  are  wrong,  Mr.  Taft. 
I  am  not  very  tired,  and  if  I  were  there  is  noth 
ing  that  rests  the  mind  like  agreeable  company." 
And  oh,  the  ravishing  smile  as  she  said  this  ! 
Alonzo  felt  his  head  going. 

"  I  don't  reckon  even  agreeable  company  'u'd 
res'  me  aftah  labourin'  wif  some  o'  de  childern 
you  've  got  in  yo'  school ;  I  knows  'em." 

"  Well,  it 's  true  they  're  not  all  of  them 
saints." 

"  No,  indeed,  they  're  not  saints.  I  don't  see 
how  a  slendah,  delikit  lady  like  yo'se'f  kin  man 
age  'em,  'less  'n  you  jes'  'spire  'em  wif  respect." 

"  I  can  see  already,"  she  answered,  "  that  it 
is  going  to  take  something  more  than  inspiration 
to  manage  the  rising  generation  of  Miltonville." 

Here  was  Alonzo's  opportunity.  He  cast  his 
eyes  romantically  toward  the  ceiling. 

"  I  c'nfess,"  he  said,  "  dat  I  am  one  o'  dem 
dat  believes  dat  yo'  sex  ought  to  be  mo'  fu' 
o'nament.  You  ought  to  have  de  strong  ahms 
of  a  man  to  pertect  you  an'  manage  fu'  you." 

If  that  was  a  twinkle  which  for  an   instant 
lightened  the  dark  eyes  of  Miss  Callena,  Mr. 
Taft  did   not  see   it,  for   his  own  orbs  were  still 
feelingly  contemplating  the  ceiling. 
250 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

"  Ah,  yes,"  sighed  the  teacher,  "  the  strong 
arms  of  man  would  save  poor  woman  a  great 
deal ;  but  it  is  always  the  same  difficulty,  to 
find  them  both  strong  and  willing." 

"  Oh,  I  know  ef  you  was  de  lady  in  ques 
tion,  dey  'd  be  plenty  dat  was  willin'  right  hyeah 
in  dis  town."  Alonzo  went  on  impetuously, 
"  Men  dat  owns  houses  an'  Ian'  an'  hosses  an' 
hogs,  even  dey  'd  be  willin'  ef  it  was  you." 

Miss  Callena's  eyes  were  discreetly  cast  down. 

"  Oh,  you  flatter  me,  Mr.  Taft." 

"  Flattah  you !  No,  ma'am.  You  don't 
know  lak  I  do.  You  have  sholy  brought  new 
life  into  dis  hyeah  town,  an'  all  Miltonville  '11 
tek  off  its  hat  to  you.  Dat 's  de  way  we  feel 
to'ds  you." 

"  I  am  sure  I  appreciate  these  kind  words 
of  yours,  and  I  hope  that  I  shall  be  able  to  keep 
the  good  opinion  of  Miltonville." 

"Jes'  as  Miltonville  hopes  dat  it  may  be 
pu'mitted  to  keep  you,"  said  Alonzo,  gallantly. 
And  so  the  conversation  went  along  merrily. 

It  was  after  ten  o'clock  before  the  enamoured 
caller  could  tear  himself  away  from  the  soft 
glance  and  musical  voice  of  the  teacher.  Then 
he  told  her :  "  Miss  Callena,  I  sholy  have  in- 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

joyed  dis  evenin'.  It  has  been  one  of  de  most 
unctious  in  all  my  life.  I  shell  nevah  fu'git  it 
so  long  as  I  am  pu'mitted  to  remain  on  dis 
earth." 

In  return,  she  said  that  the  pleasure  had  been 
mutual,  and  it  had  been  so  kind  of  him  to  come 
in  and  take  her  mind  off  the  cares  of  the  day, 
and  she  did  so  hope  that  he  would  call  again. 

Would  he  call  again  !      Could  he  stay  away  ? 

He  went  away  walking  on  air.  The  beaver 
was  tilted  far  back  on  his  head,  and  the  cane  was 
more  furiously  twirled.  The  blue  Prince  Albert 
was  thrown  wide,  showing  the  fawn-coloured 
waistcoat  in  all  its  glory. 

"  Miss  Callena,  Miss  Marfy,  Mr.  Dunkin  an' 
me  !  "  said  Mr.  Taft;  and  he  chuckled  softly  to 
himself.  Then  he  added :  "  Well,  I  did  speak 
'bout  de  hosses  an'  de  hogs  an'  de  Ian',  did  n't 
I ;  well,  what  mo'  could  I  do  ?  Of  co'se,  I 
did  n't  say  whose  dey  was ;  but  he  did  n't  want 
me  to  mention  no  names — jes'  to  hint,  an'  I 
did  hint.  Nobody  could  n't  ask  no  mo'  dan 
dat." 

Thus  does  that  duplicity  which  is  resident 
in  the  hearts  of  men  seek  to  deceive  even 
itself,  making  shining  virtues  of  its  shadiest  acts. 
252 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

In  the  days  that  ensued,  Alonzo  availed  him 
self  of  Miss  Callena's  invitation  to  call,  and 
went  often.  If  he  was  trying  or  had  succeeded 
in  deceiving  himself  as  to  his  feelings,  in  the 
minds  of  two  sagacious  women  there  was  yet  no 
doubt  about  his  intentions.  The  clear  eyes  of 
the  teacher  could  do  something  besides  sparkle ; 
they  could  see.  And  she  wondered  and  smiled 
at  the  beau's  veiled  wooing.  From  the  first 
gorgeous  moment  of  the  fawn-coloured  waist 
coat  and  the  blue  Prince  Albert,  the  other 
woman,  Martha,  had  seen  through  her  recreant 
lover  as  by  inspiration.  She  constantly  brooded 
over  his  infidelity.  He  had  entirely  deserted 
her  now,  not  even  making  any  pretence  of 
caring  what  she  thought  of  him.  For  a  while 
the  girl  went  stolidly  about  her  own  business, 
and  tried  to  keep  her  mind  from  dwelling 
on  him.  But  his  elegance  and  grace  would 
come  back  to  her  with  the  memory  of  their 
pleasant  days  of  courtship,  and  fill  her  heart 
with  sorrow.  Did  she  care  for  him  still  ?  Of 
course  she  did.  The  admission  hurt  her  pride, 
but  fostered  in  her  a  strong  determination.  If 
she  did  love  him  and  had  dared  to  confess  so 
much  to  herself,  she  had  already  reached  the 
253 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

lowest  depths  of  humiliation.  It  could  be  no 
worse  to  make  an  effort  to  retain  her  lover. 
This  resolution  gave  her  warrant  to  accost  Mr. 
Dunkin  the  next  time  she  saw  him  pass  the 
house. 

"  Howdy,  Mistah  Dunkin  ?  —  how  you  come 
on?" 

«Jes'  toPable,  Miss  Marfy.    How's  yo'se'f  ?" 

"  Mode't',  thanky,  jes'  mode't'.  How  de 
school-house  come  on  ?  " 

u  Oh,  hit 's  p'ogressin'  mos'  salub'ious,  thanky, 
ma'am." 

u  I  would  ax  you  how  de  teachah,  but  hit  do 
seem  dat  Mistah  Taf'  done  beat  yo'  time  so 
claih  dat  you  would  n't  know  nothin'  'bout 
it." 

"  Haw,  haw,  Miss  Marfy,  you  sholy  is  de 
beatenes'  one  to  have  yo'  joke." 

"  I  'claih  to  goodness,  Mistah  Dunkin,  I 's 
s'prised  at  a  man  o'  yo'  position  lettin'  Mistah 
Taf  git  de  bes'  of  him  dat  way." 

"  Nemmine,  Miss  Marfy,  I  'low  dat  young 
man  o'  yo'n  done  let  out  my  secut,  but  you 
cain't  rig  me  'bout  hit." 

"I  don't  unnerstan'  you.  What  young  man, 
an'  what  secut  ?  " 

254 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  you  an'  Mistah  Taf '  '11  soon 
be  man  an'  wife,  an'  hit  ain't  no  hahm  fu'  de 
wife  to  know  what  de  husban'  know." 

"  I  do'  know  huccome  you  say  dat ;  Mistah 
Taf  don'  have  nothin'  to  say  to  me ;  he  cou'tin' 
Miss  Callena  Johnson." 

"  Don'  have  nothin'  to  say  to  you  !  Cou'tin' 
Miss  Callena !  " 

"  Dat 's  de  reason  I  wants  to  know  huccome 
you  back  out." 

"  Back  out !  Who  back  out  ?  Me  back 
out  ?  I  ain't  nevah  backed  out :  Mistah  Taf 
foolin'  you." 

"  'T  am'  me  he  's  a-foolin'.  He  may  be 
foolin'  some  folks,  but  hit  ain't  Marfy  Jane 
Madison.  La,  Mistah  Dunkin,  I  knows  colo'ed 
folks,  I  kin  shet  my  eyes  an'  put  my  han's  on 
'em  in  de  da'k.  Co'se  hit  ain't  none  o'  my 
business,  but  I  know  he  ain't  puttin'  on  his  bes' 
clothes,  an'  gwine  to  see  dat  teachah  th'ee 
times  a  week,  'less  'n  he  got  notions  in  his  haid. 
'T  ain't  in  human  natur,  leastways  not  colo'ed 
human  natur  as  I  knows  it.  'T  ain't  me  he  's 
a-foolin'." 

"  Do  he  put  on  his  best  clothes  an'  go  th'ee 
times  a  week  ?  " 

255 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

"  Dat  he  do,  an'  ca'ies  huh  flowahs  f 'om  ol' 
Major  Richardson's  pusservatory  besides,  an' 
you  ain't  makin'  a  move." 

"  Ain't  Mistah  Taf '  nevah  tol'  you  nothin'  ? " 

"  Tol'  me  nothin'  !  No,  suhree.  What  he 
got  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Uh  huh  !  "  said  Mr.  Dunkin,  thoughtfully. 
"Well,  good-night,  Miss  Marfy.  I 's  glad  I 
seed  you;  but  I  mus'  be  gittin'  along.  I  got 
to  delibe'ate  ovah  dis  question." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  you  go  on  an'  delibe'ate,  dat  's 
right,  an'  while  you  delibe'atin',  Mistah  TaP  he 
walk  off  wid  de  lady.  But  't  ain't  none  o'  my 
business,  't  ain't  none  o'  my  business." 

Mr.  Dunkin  deliberated  as  he  walked  down 
the  street.  Could  there  be  any  truth  in  Martha 
Madison's  surmises  ?  He  had  talked  with 
Alonzo  only  the  day  before,  and  been  assured 
that  everything  was  going  right.  Could  it  be 
that  his  lieutenant  was  playing  him  false  ?  Some 
suspicious  circumstances  now  occurred  to  his 
mind.  When  he  had  spoken  of  going  himself 
to  see  Miss  Callena,  he  remembered  now  how 
Alonzo  had  insisted  that  he  had  matters  in  such 
a  state  that  the  interference  of  Mr.  Dunkin  just 
at  that  point  would  spoil  everything.  It  looked 
256 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.    DUNKIN 

dark.  His  steps  were  taking  him  toward 
Major  Richardson's.  He  heard  a  footstep,  and 
who  should  be  coming  toward  him,  arrayed  even 
as  Martha  Madison  had  said,  but  the  subject  of 
his  cogitations  ?  Mr.  Dunkin  thought  he  saw 
Alonzo  start  as  their  eyes  met.  He  had  a  bou 
quet  in  his  hand. 

"  Hey  ho,  'Lonzo.  Gwine  down  to  Miss 
Callena's  ?  " 

"  Why  —  why  —  ye'  —  yes.  I  jes'  thought 
I  would  walk  down  that  way  in  yo'  int'rus'." 

"  My  !  but  you  sholy  has  got  yo'se'f  up  fit  to 
kill." 

"  When  de  genul  sen's  his  messengers  out  to 
negoterate,  dey  mus'  go  in  full  unifo'm,  so  's  to 
impress  de  people  dat  dey  genul  is  somebody." 

"  Jesso,"  assented  the  elder  man,  "  but  I 
don't  want  you  to  be  waihin'  out  yo'  clothes  in 
my  suhvice,  'Lonzo." 

"Oh,  dat 's  all  right,  Mistah  Dunkin;  hit's 
a  pleasuah,  I  assuah  you." 

"  How  's  things  comin'  on,  anyhow,  down  to 
Miss  Callena's  ?  " 

"  Could  n't  be  bettah,  suh  ;  dey  's  most  pus- 
picious.      Hit  '11  soon  be  time  fu'  you  to  come 
in  an'  tek  mattahs  in  yo'  own  han's." 
17  257 


FOLKS   FROM    DIXIE 

"  Do  you  tell  Miss  Callena  'bout  de  houses 
an'  Ian'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;   I  tells  huh  all  about  dat." 

"  What  she  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  jes'  smiles." 

"  I  reckon  you  tol'  huh  'bout  de  hogs  an'  de 
chickens  an'  de  hosses  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  sholy  done  dat." 

"  What  she  do  den  ?  " 

"She  jes'  smiled." 

"  Did  you  th'ow  out  a  hint  'bout  me  buyin' 
mo'  Ian'  ?  " 

"  Why,  co'se  I  wa'  n't  go'n'  to  leave  dat  paht 
out." 

"  Well,  den,  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  smiled  ag'in." 

"  Huh !  she  mus'  be  a  gone  smiler.  'Per.rs 
to  me,  'Lonzo,  'bout  time  she  sayin'  somep'n'." 

"  Oh,  she  smile  'cause  she  kin  do  dat  so 
purty,  dat 's  de  reason  she  smile." 

"  Uh  huh  !  Well,  go  'long,  I  mus'  be  gittin' 
home." 

Alonzo  Taft  smiled  complacently  as  he  passed 

on.     "  Yes,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  '11  soon   be 

time   fu'    Mistah   Dunkin  to   come   in   an'    tek 

mattahs  in  his  own  han's.      It  '11  soon  be  time." 

258 


DELIBERATION    OF   MR.    DUNKIN 

He  had  lost  all  scruples  at  his  course,  and 
ceased  self-questioning. 

Mr.  Dunkin  gave  no  sign  of  perturbation  of 
mind  as  he  walked  down  the  street  to  his  cot 
tage.  He  walked  neither  faster  nor  slower  than 
he  had  gone  before  seeing  Martha  Madison. 
But  when  he  sank  down  into  the  depths  of  his 
arm-chair  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  apartment, 
he  said  :  "  Miss  Marfy  say  dat  while  I  delib- 
e'atin'  Mistah  TaP  walk  off  wif  de  lady.  Huh 
uh  !  Well,  I  jes'  delibe'ate  a  little  mo'  while  I 's 
a-changin'  my  clothes." 

Who  shall  tell  of  the  charms  which  Miss 
Callena  displayed  that  night, —  how  her  teeth 
gleamed  and  her  eyes  sparkled  and  her  voice  was 
alternately  merry  or  melting  ?  It  is  small  won 
der  that  the  heart  of  Alonzo  Taft  throbbed,  and 
that  words  of  love  rushed  to  his  lips  and  burst  into 
speech.  But  even  then  some  lingering  sense  of 
loyalty  made  his  expressions  vague  and  ambigu 
ous.  There  was  the  sea  before  him,  but  he 
hated,  nay,  feared  to  plunge  in.  Miss  Callena 
watched  him  as  he  dallied  upon  the  shore  of  an 
open  declaration,  and  admired  a  timidity  so  rare 
in  a  man  of  Taft's  attainments. 

"  I   know  you  boun'  to  look   down   on  me, 
259 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

Miss  Callena,"  he  said,  with  subdued  ardour, 
"  'cause  I  'm  a  ign'ant  man.  I  ain't  had  no 
ejication  nor  no  schoolin'.  I  'm  jes'  a  se'f-made 
man.  All  I  know  I  've  lunned  f'om  de  white 
folks  I  've  wo'ked  fu'." 

"  It  is  n't  always  education  that  makes  the 
man,  Mr.  Taft,"  said  the  school-teacher,  encour 
agingly.  "  I  Ve  seen  a  great  many  men  in  my 
life  who  had  all  the  education  and  schooling  that 
heart  could  wish,  but  when  that  was  said,  all 
was  said.  They  had  n't  anything  here."  She 
pressed  her  hand  feelingly  and  impressively  upon 
her  heart.  "  It 's  the  noble  heart,  after  all,  that 
makes  the  real  man." 

Mr.  Taft  also  pressed  his  hand  against  his 
heart  and  sighed.  They  were  both  so  absorbed 
that  neither  of  them  saw  the  shadow  that  fell 
on  the  floor  from  a  form  that  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

"  As  for  being  self-made,"  Miss  Callena 
went  on,  "  why,  Mr.  Taft,  what  can  be  nobler 
or  better  for  a  man  to  know  than  that  all  he 
has  he  has  got  by  his  own  efforts  ?  " 

The  shadow  disappeared,  and  the  form  receded 
from  the  doorway  as  the  suitor  was  saying :  "  I 
tek  no  credit  to  myse'f  fu'  what  I  Ve  got,  neither 
260 


DELIBERATION    OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

in  sense  or  money.  But  I  am  glad  to  say  dat  I 
wo'ked  fu'  everything  myse'f." 

"  You  have  reason  to  be  proud  of  such  a 
fact." 

They  were  visibly  warming  up.  Alonzo 
moved  his  chair  a  little  nearer,  and  possessed 
himself  of  Miss  Callena's  hand.  She  did  not 
draw  it  away  nor  repulse  him.  She  even  hung 
her  head.  Yes,  the  proud,  educated,  queenly 
Callena  Johnson  hung  her  head.  Meanwhile,  in 
the  darkness  of  the  doorway  the  form  stood  and 
glowered  upon  them. 

"  Miss  Callena,  at  a  time  like  dis,  I  hates  to 
talk  to  you  about  de  o'dina'y  things  of  life,  but 
when  anything  se'ious  arises,  it  is  allus  well  fu' 
de  pahties  to  know  each  othah's  circumstances." 

"You  are  a  very  sensible  man,  Mr.  Taft." 

"  Call  me  'Lonzo,"  he  murmured,  patting  her 
hand.  "  But,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  it 's  neces 
sary  dat  you  should  know  de  circumstances  of 
anybody  who  wanted  to  ax  fu'  dis  han'  dat  I  'm 
a-holdin'." 

Miss  Callena  turned  her  head  away  and  was 
silent.  In  fact,  she  held  her  breath. 

"  Miss  Johnson  —  Callena  —  what  'u'd  you 
think  of  a  nice  cottage  wif  no  encumbrances  on 
261 


FOLKS   FROM   DIXIE 

it,  a   couple  o'   nice  bosses,  a  cow  an'   ha'f  a 
dozen  of  de  fines'  hogs  in  Miltonville — " 

"  An'  all  o'  dem  mine  !  "  thundered  the  voice 
of  the  form,  striding  into  the  middle  of  the 
room. 

Miss  Callena  shrieked.  Alonzo  had  been 
about  falling  on  his  knees,  but  he  assumed  an 
erect  position  with  an  alacrity  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  a  gymnast. 

"Co'se,  of  co'se,  Mistah  Dunkin!  I  was 
jes'  a-comin'  to  dat !  " 

"  I  jes'  come  down  fu'  feah  you  'd  fu'git  to 
tell  Miss  Callena  who  all  dem  things  'longed  to, 
an'  who  's  a-layin'  dem  at  huh  feet,"  said  Mr. 
Dunkin. 

"  I  'low  Miss  Callena  unnerstan'  dat,"  said 
Mr.  Taft,  bobbing  his  head  sheepishly. 

"  I  don't  remember  that  Mr.  Taft  explained 
this  before,"  said  Miss  Johnson,  turning  coldly 
from  him.  "  Do  have  a  seat,  dear  Mr.  Dunkin." 

Alonzo  saw  with  grief  that  the  idol  of  his 
heart  had  transferred  her  affectionate  smiles  to 
the  rightful  owner  of  the  other  property  that  had 
been  in  question.  He  made  his  stay  short,  leav 
ing  Mr.  Dunkin  in  undisputed  possession  of  the 
field. 

262 


DELIBERATION   OF   MR.   DUNKIN 

That  gentleman  took  no  further  time  for 
deliberation.  He  promptly  proposed  and  was 
accepted.  Perhaps  even  the  romantic  Miss 
Callena  had  an  eye  to  the  main  chance. 

The  day  after  the  announcement  of  the  en 
gagement,  he  met  his  erstwhile  lieutenant  on  the 
street. 

"  Well,  well,  Mistah  Dunkin,  we  winned  huh, 
did  n't  we  ?  "  said  Alonzo. 

"  'Lonzo  TaP,"  said  Mr.  Dunkin,  deliberately, 
"  I  fu'give  you,  but  you  ain't  de  man  I  teken 
you  to  be." 


263 


Mend  by.*  ......  Time  .....  3AA..T_.A'....?..? 

[Unusual  mending  time  charged  extra] 

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